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Entered, according to Act of Congrem, in the year 1S53, by 
DAPHNE 8. GILES. 

In the Clerh's Office of the Diatrict <7ourt for the Southern District of 

New York. 




B. CBA16HEAD, Printer and Stereotyper, 
58 VMe» N. Y, 


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TO 


J . W. BROOKS, Esq. 

i§£tro{t, 

I respectfully dedicate this volume to you 
as a memento of my gratitude. 


D. S. GILES, 

Ann Arbor, 


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Gotifetif^ 


Chapter I. Page 

The New England Cottage 7 

Chapter II. 

The Night Vigils 30 

Chapter ni. 

The Battle Field 47 

Chapter IV. 

The Victory.. 66 

Chapter V. 

Blighted Hope 88 

Chapter VI. 

The Inebriate Wife 112 

Chapter VII. 

The Departed 1^ 


- ■■ ■ — 1 — ^ ■ ' 

CONTENTS. 

Chapter Vin. P«e« r 

The Forebodings 160 

, ■ Chapter IX. 

The Christian’s Faith 186 

Chapter X. 

The Deceiver and the Deceived 220 

I 


I 


£B8I dUiSI. 


CHAPTER I. 


THE NEW ENGLAND COTTAGE. 

“ There is a land of beauty bright, 

The clime of love, the home of light. 

With gems and fragrant lilies dight.” 

If the reader is a stranger to the 
New England village and its pictur- 
esque scenery, it will be a difficult 
task to strengthen the mental eye, 
though aided by a vivid imagination, 
to look upon its lofty mountains, 
clothed with the richest verdure, which 


8 

have nursed the .gigantic oak and 
towering pine, araid whose branches 
the forked lightnings have held their 
midnight dance, while the deep-toned 
thunder strove in vain to chant the 
requiem of centuries past ; and against 
whose impregnable sides the frenzied 
whirlwinds have dashed in quick suc- 
cession the electric balls, unextin- 
guished by the rolling torrents falling 
from cleft to cleft, until the shattered 
crag loses its strong hold, and the 
unimpeded element finds a safe-deposit 
in the bosom of some deep ravine, 
where it leaves its maddened roar, and 
mingles with the purling stream or 
babbling brook. There is beauty, as 
well as sublimity, mingled with moun- 
tain scenery. The eye cannot rest 
with indifference upon the distant 
east, while the King of day raises his 
golden lid, and with his irradiating 
lashes forming the glorious network 


9 

of the purple morn, causing the valleys 
to unfold their dewy pearls. 

In one of these deep ravines on the 
banks of the beautiful “ Roselle,” stood 
a plain white cottage, unadorned by 
ancient or modern architecture. The 
weeping willow and a spreading elm 
furnished an ample shade, while the 
blooming honeysuckle and luxuriant 
woodbine formed a floral arch over 
the doorway of Captain De Van’s 
hospitable dwelling. This gentleman 
was of the Puritan race, with stereo- 
typed principles, and a native of Con- 
necticut — was reared among the Blue 
Laws of that state, and was married in 
early life to a Miss Jane Williams, 
after which he moved to the state of 
Vermont, and settled with his young 
wife near the spot above described, — 
where they, by their industry and 
economy, acquired in a few years a 
comfortable competency. 


10 

Mrs. De Van was indeed the help- 
mate of her husband. Her amiable 
character rendered her the favorite of 
the neighborhood. She often, in ad- 
ministering to the wants of others, 
found that it was more blessed to give 
than receive ; their house was the 
house of prayer, — morning and even- 
ing the old family Bible lay open 
upon the stand. This volume was not 
only sacred to Mr. De Van as the 
word of God, but because it was a 
precious gift from his venerable father. 
As he knelt with his wife and children 
around the family altar, with bowed 
head, in low and solemn tones he 
prayed to Almighty God for strength 
and wisdom, to train up his children 
in the fear and admonition of the 
Lord. Year after year passed on, and 
the sacred fire on that family altar 
burned bright and clear. 

They met from Sabbath to Sabbath, 


11 

and mingled their unostentatious de- 
votions with those whose delight it is 
to bring unto God the acceptable 
offering of a broken and contrite heart. 
These humble villagers worshipped not 
God by proxy, they sang with solemn 

“ My soul shall pray for Zion still, 

While life and breath remains ; 

There my best friends and kindred dwell,— 
There God my Saviour reigns.” 

The villagers of Roselle, by their 
united efforts, had erected a neat and 
commodious sanctuary in a seques- 
tered part of their village, though for 
several years they were obliged to use 
this as a school-room. The ample 
play-grounds and the neighboring 
grove in the rear, made it not an unfit 
place for the development of the intel- 
lect. A long range of the Green 
Mountains were in full view, and lofty 
hills on either hand could be seen 


12 

covered by the grazing flocks of the 
surrounding farmers. Mr. and Mrs. 
De Van were prompt to defray their 
portion of the expenses of church and 
school, for they had now two children 
who must be educated either at home 
or abroad. As much pains was usu- 
ally taken in the selection of teachers, 
they resolved to educate them at 
home. Affie and Amelia were the 
names of their two elder daughters ; 
Afiie being two years the senior. 

The foundation for correct princi- 
ples was early laid by their virtuous 
mother ; and her health being poor, she 
had not failed to initiate her daugh- 
ters into the art of housekeeping. At 
the age of ten they were further ad- 
vanced in this necessary part of female 
education than the most of young la- 
dies are at the present day at twenty. 
The large bunches of fine linen yarn 
that hung upon the walls and after- 


13 

wards made into linen, or the high 
case of drawers filled with bedding of 
the same material bleached to the 
whiteness of snow — these were suffi- 
cient proof that Mrs. D. and her 
daughters were of that class of whom 
the wise man hath said, “ She layeth 
her hands to the spindle, and her 
hands hold the distaff.” Mrs. De Van 
taught her daughters that industry 
was an ancient accomplishment, while 
Mr. De Van read to them the custom 
of the eastern nobility, as follows : 

“ It was the pride of Augustus 
Caesar, that his imperial robes, his 
fringed tunic, and costly quilts, were 
wrought in his household, by the hands 
of his wife, his sister, his daughter, 
and his grand-daughter. So, too, 
Alexander the Great, when advising 
the mother of Darius to teach her 
nieces to imitate the Grecian ladies in 
spinning wool, showed her the garments 
2 


14 

which he wore, and told her they 
were made by his sisters. The vir- 
tuous Lucretia worked with her maid- 
ens at the spinning wheel ; and Tana- 
quil, the wife of Tarquin, wrought 
woollen robes so well, that long after 
her death her spinning implements, to- 
gether with a robe of her manufac- 
ture, were hung up in the temple of 
Fortune, — a constant monument of 
her taste and skill, and for the instruc- 
tion of Roman maids and matrons, 
that they, too, should lay their hands 
to the spindle, and their hands should 
hold the distaff.” 

AfRe, with a heart as pure as the 
mountain air she breathed, often 
danced her distaff, while the silver 
thread glided through her slender 
fingers, rolling like magic on the 
polished spool, which she, with grace 
unsurpassed, kept in motion with 
her tiny feet. AflSe playfully inter- 


15 

rupted lier father, as he read the fol- 
lowing : 

“ ‘ In early times the bride went to 
her new home amid the throng of re- 
joicing maidens ; and the young atten- 
dants carried in their hands the distafl* 
and the spindle, with the gay-colored 
woollens hanging about them.’ This 
is just the way, dear papa, that I am 
going to my bridal home.” 

Amelia seriously replied, “ You are 
not sure that he will have a home to 
take you to.” 

“ Then, Milly,” replied Affie, “ be 
assured I shall not be toolc 

Mrs. De Van for some time had 
been a silent listener, but not an in- 
different one, as she was always at- 
tentive to the reading of her husband, 
and the incessant prattle of her child- 
ren. She now broke silence by play- 
fully asking AflSe to conjugate the 
verb “ took.” The girls soon set 


16 

about their task in high glee, and the 
parents joined heartily in the laugh of 
their children. 

Mrs. De Yan then cast her eye upon 
the old wooden clock, that stood in a 
tall but finely polished case in the 
corner, and saw that it was nearly 
four o’clock. “ It is time, my children, 
that your sports and your work were 
laid aside, for we shall have scarce 
time to make arrangements for the 
Sabbath before sundown ; it is later 
than I had thought.” 

“Thank you, Jane, for telling me the 
time, for I have my chores all to do,” 
said Mr. D., and rose hastily and walk- 
ed to the door, when he saw that the 
boys had already got the cows into 
the yard. “ Milly, dear, hand me the 
milk-pails.” Milly had just finished 
laying her patchwork in perfect order 
in her basket, and was ready to com- 
ply with the request of her father. 


11 

Affie in a few moments had her 
wheel stowed away in the weaving 
shop ; and the floor, which in the morn- 
ing had been scoured to almost a per- 
fect whiteness, was re-swept, and every 
chair put in its place. The old kitchen 
table was drawn to the middle of the 
floor, and covered with a cloth as 
white as snow ; every dish was set in 
order, and among them were several 
pewter plates which were considered 
by them more valuable than their chi- 
na set, which was only used on special 
occasions. The brown loaf was drawn 
smoking from the oven, where it had 
been placed in the morning by Mrs. D., 
and put upon a large pewter platter, 
which, with the butter plate, had been 
polished till they were as bright as 
silver. The new-made honey was 
there, accompanied by cake and pie, 
which always grace the New England 
farmer’s table. Saturday might well 
2 * 


18 

be called “ food day” with the New 
Englanders, as a two days’ supply is 
invariably prepared. The family was 
soon summoned to the well filled ta- 
ble, placing themselves behind the 
backs of their chairs, while Mr. De 
Van solemnly invoked a blessing as 
the children reverentially folded their 
hands in silence. 

During the meal, Mr. D. asked 
his wife if she knew that Mr. Wil- 
lard had opened a store in their 
village. She replied, “ I was not aware 
that there was such a person in tovm, 
till I saw him at church last Sab- 
bath. He is quite a young man, I 
should not think him over thirty.” 

“ He is, indeed, an intelligent looking 
man,” replied Mr. D., “ and he certainly 
ought to be a good man, for our 
friend, Lieutenant Morse, informed 
me that his father Tyas Deacon of one 
church fifty years.” 


19 

Affie asked her mamma if she had 
heard from Mr. Morse’s child that 
was so very sick yesterday. 

“It is better, my dear; though I 
think it will not recover. Mrs. Morse 
would feel very bad if little Franky 
should die. I have often heard her 
say that she was the image of the 
other little girl she lost. I shall go 
up and see her before dark.” 

Willie, a little boy five years old, 
looked seriously up into his mother’s 
face,“ Ma, I thought it was wicked to go 
visiting Saturday night after sundown.” 

“ It is not wicked to do a work 
of mercy on the sabbath day. Our 
blessed Lord, when here on earth, 
was always ready even on this 
day to relieve sufiering humanity. — 
Amelia, what day was it that Christ 
restored the withered hand ?” 

“ It was the last day of the week, 
mamma, the Jewish Sabbath.” 


20 


Affie looked inquiringly to her father 
and said, “ I do not see why the Sabbath 
has been changed to the first day of the 
week, for the Bible says that God made 
heaven and earth and sea and all that 
in them is, and rested the seventh 
day ; wherefore, the Lord blessed the 
Sabbath day and hallowed it.” 

Mr. De Van was always glad to have 
Bible questions asked him by his 
children, and was ready to answer to 
the best of his ability. “There was 
no direct command given to change 
this day. The redemption of man 
through Christ was considered by the 
Apostles to be a greater work than 
the creation of myriads of worlds. It 
was on the first day of the week that 
Christ arose from the grave, and can 
you tell me who was earliest at the 
Sepulchre ?” 

The girls both replied, “It was 
Mary.” 



21 


Mrs. De Van asked, “ Was it Mary, 
the mother of Jesus, or Mary Mag- 
dalene ?” 

Affie readily answered,^ It was Mary 
Magdalene.” 

Their supper being finished, they 
respectfully arose while Mr. D. return- 
ed his heartfelt thanks to the Author 
of every good and perfect gift. Dur- 
ing this Willie, a sly little rogue, 
happened to espy an intruding grass- 
hopper perching itself upon his plate. 
Willie did not close his eyes as did 
his parents, his bright black eyes saw 
everything that was about him. Not- 
withstanding the reproving looks of 
his sister, as quick as thought he 
took the poor insect prisoner, placing 
one of its legs between his pretty lips, 
looking mischievously at his sister, 
while the grasshopper performed vari- 
ous evolutions about the mouth and 
nose of its antagonist. Even AflSe 


22 

could scarcely control her risibles, but 
he was sure to loose his hold before 
the solemn “ Amen” was pronounced, 
and as soon as the closed eyes of his 
parents were opened he looked as 
demure as if nothing had happened. 

At this moment a hurried rap was 
given at the door ; it was opened, and 
Lieutenant Morse entered. Deep 
anxiety was depicted on his counte- 
nance, and without ceremony he re- 
quested Mrs. D. to accompany him to 
his house. The question being asked 
if Franky' was worse, was answered in 
the affirmative. Mrs. D. was soon 
seated in the chaise ; they drove rapidly 
down the descent to the highway, 
and in a moment were out of sight. 
Mr. Morse soon drove to his own 
door, where his friend alighted. Mrs. 
D. with a noiseless step entered the 
sick room, where several neighbors 
were already present. The little 


23 


sufferer lay in the arms of its pale 
and weeping mother, in strong con- 
vulsions. This kind-hearted lady 
advanced and took the child. Cap- 
tain De Van was not a man that ab- 
sented himself from scenes of suffer- 
ing, but taking his hat and cane, 
walked leisurely down the road that 
lay upon the banks of the river, which 
formed a deep bend, where, many 
years before, the inhabitants of this 
village had selected the burying-place 
of their dead. The thoughtful eye of 
our friend gazed with intense interest 
upon the richly cultivated fields, 
while upon the other hand the lofty 
hills stood out in bold relief, and ever 
and anon the white rock could be 
seen peering through the green 
foliage, that fringed the banks of the 
beautiful river. The branches of the 
elm and the box were interwoven, 
and by its side like a sentinel — 


24 

“ The lombard poplar stood, 

And silver willow gently bowed. 

To drink the crystal flood.” 

Happy indeed is he who can look 
from “nature up to nature’s God. 
Our friend halted as he came up to 
the city of the dead, and leaned pen- 
sively over the white fence ; there he 
could see engraved upon the white 
and grey marble, the names of many 
whose memory was yet dear to him. 
He repeated almost audibly, “there 
was a garden, and in the garden a 
new sepulchre, wherein was never 
man yet laid.” He thought of the 
unbroken ranks of his dear family, 
then offered a silent prayer to that 
God in whose hand are the issues of 
life and death, beseeching him to de- 
fend from the arrows of death, which 
were flying thick around them. 
He saw not the dark cloud that was 
gathering, nor the bitter cup which he 


was soon to drink. It was a pensive 
hour and a suitable place for such re- 
flections. The birds had sung their 
evening lays, and all nature was 
hushed. 

The footsteps of a traveller aroused 
him from his reverie. He soon joined 
him, and found it was a young man 
with whom he had a slight acquain- 
tance, who had been to a neighboring 
village to obtain medical aid for his 
friend. They were soon at the bed- 
side of the dying child, where they 
found Mr. Willard and his lady. 
They did not wait for a formal intro- 
duction, but did what they could for 
the consolation of the afflicted family. 
Mrs. Willard and Mrs. He Van dressed 
the corpse in a white muslin robe and 
laid it away ; the little chair and 
empty cradle were carefully set aside, 
and Franky’s toys were gathered up 
and laid in the drawer by the weeping 

3 



26 


friends. While the two gentlemen 
who had been strangers but a few 
moments before, were mutually making 
arrangements for the funeral, each 
anxious to do his part on this 
mournful occasion. 

Mr. and Mrs. Willard resolved to 
spend the night with their new friends, 
and watch the corpse. After an ap- 
propriate prayer by their minister, the 
Rev. Mr. Bradley, in which he earnest- 
ly besought God to temper the winds 
fo the shorn of his flock, Mr. and Mrs. 
D. walked home. 

Mr. D. broke the silence by re- 
marking that he liked the appearance 
of his new friend very much. Mrs. 
D. replied that he had shown himself 
very kind, “ but there is one thing that 
I am sorry to learn of him.” 

“ What is that, Jane ? ” 

“ If I have been correctly informed, 
he has brought into our little village a 



21 

quantity of liquors, amounting to 
several hundred dollars.” 

“ What harm is there in that ? 
He is a gentleman who knows how to 
dispose of it properly. We have a 
large farming country around us, and 
there are several large buildings to be 
erected this season, and every laboring 
man you know, my dear, must have 
it, and our winters are long and cold, 
and we are subject to induenza. I 
think Willie would have died last 
winter, when he had that severe 
attack, if it had not been for the hot 
slings and rum sweats which we gave 
him.” 

“ I know Willie was very sick, but 
I think that it was other medicines 
that Dr. Williams gave him that re- 
moved the disease. Be this as it 
may, my husband, one thing is sure, 
that drunkenness is an acquired habit. 
If ouf heavenly Father had approved 


28 

of the sale of intoxicating liquor, he 
would not have said, ‘ Woe unto him 
that giveth his neighbor drink, that 
puttest thy bottle to him, and makest 
him drunken also, that thou mayest 
look on their nakedness.’ ” 

“ This isolated text of scripture 
would prohibit the use of wines, for 
Noah was made drunk by the juice of 
the grape.” 

Mrs. D. modestly said, “ I saw in 
the newspapers a few days since, a 
short sketch giving the history of the 
intoxicating properties of the different 
wines that were used in those days, 
and should judge from this account 
that there was a small proportion of 
the wines in the days of Noah that 
contained intoxicating properties. 
And therefore the use of them could 
not have been as dangerous as it is at 
the present day.” 

“ You would then, my temperate 


29 

Jane, exclude wines on all occa- 
sions.” 

“ I would, if it was in my power, 
rid my country, and especially this 
little village, from an evil that is cal- 
culated to ruin our young men, and to 
blunt the sensibilities of those who 
have been hitherto pillars in society.” 

Our friend had not been in the habit 
I of hearing his wife express herself so 
freely, and especially upon a subject 
that he considered of so little impor- 
tance ; there was but one drunkard in 
town, and he saw no occasion for so 
much alarm. He was now willing to 
drop the subject, by asking Mrs. D. 
if she knew that James Radford went 
for Dr. Smith. She answered in the 
affirmative. 


3 * 


ao 


CHAPTER II. 

THE NIG-HT VIGIL8. 

*' There is mourning in the hall. 

Where, beneath the snowy pall. 

Waiting for the hungry grave, 

Like a lily on the wave. 

Sleeps an infant’s tiny form. 

Now with life no longer warm." 

Our good friends had now reached 
their quiet home, where they found 
their children seated in their pleasant 
little parlor ; Afhe was reading aloud, 
Amelia being her only auditor, for 
Willie had been in bed a full half hour, 
but he could not say his prayers and 
go to sleep, until he had confessed that 
he had been a naughty boy while 
his father was saying grace. Affie 
kindly told him that God would for- 
give him if he forsook his sins ; Wilhe 


31 

promised he would not be guilty again 
of such an act. 

The girls observed, as their mother 
entered the parlor, that she looked 
pale and weary. 

“ I am afraid, dear mamma, that 
you are sick.” 

“I am not sick, but Franky is 
dead.” 

Affie expressed her deep sympathy 
for Mr. and Mrs. Morse. Mr. De Van 
inquired of Affie what she had been 
reading. 

“ Papa, in the fore-part of the 
evening I read in ‘Josephus’ the ac- 
count that he gave of the Jews’ seventy 
years of captivity, but, when you came 
in, I was reading in ‘ Baxter’s Call to 
the Unconverted.’” 

“ I am glad you have been so well 
employed ; it is necessary that all, but 
especially one like yourself, who has 
so recently put on Christ by a public 


32 

profession, should cultivate a spiritual 
frame of mind.” 

A portion of scripture, from the old 
family bible, was then read, and they 
bowed together around the family al- 
tar ; after the thank-offering had as- 
cended, the petitioner for the first 
time offered up a fervent prayer, that 
God would stay the tide of intemper- 
ance, that was calculated to ruin man, 
on whom God had stamped His own 
image ; at this prayer, Mrs. D. respond- 
ed audibly. After the devotions were 
concluded, Affie was informed that she 
was to watch, in company with Mr. 
Radford and Wilhelmina Harris, at 
Mr. Morse’s. 

This family did not think it right to 
lie in bed late on the Sabbath morn- 
ing ; they arose early, as was their cus- 
tom, and every duty quietly discharg- 
ed with the utmost promptness, each 
anxious to keep the Sabbath-day holy. 


33 

Affie singing, as she prepared the sim- 
ple breakfast : 

“ Welcome, sweet day of rest. 

That saw the Lord arise. 

Welcome to this reviving breast. 

And these rejoicing eyes. 

" The king himself comes near. 

And feasts his saints to-day. 

Here we may sit, and see him here. 

And love and praise and pray.” 

Mrs. De Van’s health would not ad- 
mit of her accompanying her family 
to church that day, although it was 
one of those tranquil mornings, and 
one might have well sung : 

” How calm and beautiful the morn, 

That gilds the sacred tomb. 

Where once the crucified was borne. 

And veiled in midnight gloom. 

Weep no more your Saviour slain, 

The Lord is risen— he lives again.” 

The quietude of the Sabbath was not 
broken by the report of the hunter’s 


34 

rifle ; in Roselle there were no Sabbath- 
breakers to stroll abroad in pursuit of 
pleasures, which bite like a serpent, 
and sting like an adder. Old men and 
matrons, young men and maidens, 
were seen on this day, as they were on 
all Sabbath-days, quietly wending their 
way up to the sanctuary, where they 
listened to the word with becoming 
solemnity. 

The De Van family returned home 
after church, each one appearing 
anxious to communicate as much of 
the sermon as was possible to their 
mother. Amelia repeated the text, 
which was in Matt. xi. 28 ; “ Come 
unto me all ye that labor, and are 
heavy laden ; and I will give you 
rest; take my yoke upon you and 
learn of me ; I am meek and lowly in 
heart, and ye shall find rest unto 
your souls, for my yoke is easy, and 
my burden is light.” 


35 

Mrs. D. seemed pleased to find her 
children so anxious to make her sab- 
bath at home not only pleasant but 
profitable. As soon as it was sun- 
down Affie gathered a beautiful bou- 
quet from her choice flowers to carry 
to her afflicted friends ; as they received 
it from her hands — Mrs. Morse re- 
marked to her husband, “ In this selec- 
tion, volumes are expressed ; I will take 
this white rose and place it on Franky’s 
breast, for she is indeed silent in death.'^ 
Mr. M. said, “ My dear, she is not silent 
in Heaven.” Mrs. M. replied — “ I have 
thought much of the sabbath that never 
ends, where are now our angel babes 
before the Throne of him who has 
said, in His sacred Word, “ Except ye 
become as little children, ye can in no 
wise enter the Kingdom of Heaven.’ 
I desire to acquiesce in what my 
heavenly Father has done. The Lord 
gave and the Lord hath taken away.” 


36 

Here the grief of Mrs. Morse prevent- 
ed her utterance. They mingled their 
tears in silence, while little Georgy 
hid his face in his mother’s lap, and 
sobbed aloud. 

“ I cannot, mamma, have little 
Franky buried in the ground as little 
Laura was.” 

The weeping mother assured the sob- 
bing child that God had need of them, 
and if he was a good boy that he would 
meet them in heaven. Mr. Radford 
and the young ladies spent the night 
in reading and conversing on subjects 
befitting the place. 

Mr. R.’s buoyant spirits were held in 
check by Miss D. so that he did not 
presume to joke Wilhelmina about 
Dr. Williams, who had for some time 
paid especial attention to her; he in- 
formed the young ladies that he had 
engaged himself to become the clerk 
of Mr. Willard. 


37 

Affie seriously said, “ What doth it 
profit a man if he gain the whole 
world and lose his own soul ?” 

Mr. R. frankly replied, “ I ad- 
mire the frankness with which you 
defend your religion; but I do not 
see as I shall be any more exposed to 
lose my own soul there, than in any 
other employment, and I think upon 
the whole, I shall have more time to 
solve your problem, than I should 
have if I worked at my trade.” 

“ You will there no doubt encounter 
more formidable temptations than you 
would if you followed your former occu- 
pation ; you will be constantly in the 
society of those that are habitually 
drinkers.” 

The color mounted to the young 
man’s cheek, and with unusual firm- 
ness he said, “I see that you are 
fearful that I shall become intem- 
perate, but I am able to keep myself.” 


38 

Affie timidly said, “ Ko man is liis 
own keeper, and let him that thinks he 
standeth take heed lest he fall. James, 
I shall pray for you, that you may be 
kept from the fowler’s snare.” 

Affie was astonished at her own de- 
cision, for a few months before she 
would not for the world have opposed 
her young friend. But now she was not 
afraid to defend that truth wherewith 
Christ had made her free. She appre- 
ciated the pearl of great price which she 
had earnestly sought and obtained — 
she desired others to drink from the 
well of salvation which was in her 
soul — a well of water springing up 
into everlasting life. 

The purple morn broke in the dis- 
tant east, and the night vigils of the 
faithful watchers were now over ; and 
they returned home conscious that 
they had been mutually benefited. 

In the afternoon the funeral ser- 



39 


n 

vices were conducted by the Rev, Mr. 
Bradley, who selected these words 
from Mark v. 39 — “ She is not dead, 
but sleepeth.” His remarks upon the 
death and resurrection of the body, 
and the reunion of the soul with the 
body in the morning of the resurrec- 
tion, were calculated in the highest 
degree to afford consolation to the la- 
cerated hearts of the afflicted mourn- 
ers. 

Their dead was now buried out of 
their sight ; and they returned accom- 
panied by several of their friends, 
among whom was Colonel Bertram, 
who had been a faithful friend of 
Lieutenant Morse. His parents were 
among the early settlers of Roselle. 
They were a wealthy family. Colonel 
Bertram had for many years resided 
south, where he married a lady of 
fortune. His objections to “ slavery,” 
even at this early period, induced him 


40 


to return to his favorite Roselle. Mrs. 
Bertram was a native of New England, 
and rejoiced with her husband to be 
again fanned by the mountain breeze, 
and to drink from the pure waters 
that make glad the heart of the wan- 
derer. She readily connected herself 
with the little church, and adorned 
the doctrines of her profession, as we 
shall see, by a well ordered life and 
godly conversation. Her husband was 
a man of the world, possessing many 
virtues as a husband, a gentleman, 
and friend. Being a military man. 
Lieutenant Morse and himself were 
kindred spirits. 

He had purchased a beautiful loca- 
tion near his friend on the opposite 
side of the river, where he had erected 
a superb mansion, in which he had 
displayed much taste, not only in its 
architecture, but in the embellish- 
ments of its ample fore-grounds. He 


41 

had selected a choice collection of 
shrubbery congenial with that cli- 
mate. 

Mrs. Morse, in her lonely hours, was 
glad of such a friend as Mrs. Bertram. 
They engaged not in the idle gossip 
of the neighborhood ; they read and 
conversed together upon those subjects 
which were calculated to elevate the 
mind and enrich the soul. The influ- 
ence and responsibility of parents, 
especially mothers, was often the sub- 
ject of their conversation. Mrs. B. 
had but one son, whose name we 
shall call Walter^ He was at this 
time but two years old, but the reader 
will do well to bear him in mind. 

In one of Mrs. Morse’s interviews 
with her friend, she informed her that 
she had just returned from Capt. He 
Van’s. She remarked that Mrs. D. 
was failing. Mrs. B. assured her friend 
that if she had known of her illness, 
4 * 



42 

she should have called on her be- 
fore, “ but I left town the day that Dr. 
Williams was married to Miss Harris, 
and did not return till this morning.” 

“ The Dr. was there this morning 
when I called ; he invited AflSe and Mr. 
Radford to call oh them. I think AflBe 
possesses a mind above Mr. R., though 
he is an industrious young man.” 

Mrs. B. inquired if Affie enter- 
tained any scruples in regard to mar- 
rying an unprofessor. 

“ She is very conscientious, but I 
think she has not given that a thought. 
He is in the employment of Mr. Wil- 
lard.” 

Mrs. D. had failed rapidly du- 
ring the day, and now no hope was 
entertained of her recovery ; she was 
aware of her approaching dissolution, 
and was calm, for all her trust was 
stayed on God. 

After committing her husband and 



43 

children to the hands of God, her 
sainted spirit left the church militant 
to pass through “ the dark valley and 
shadow of death,” when she joined the 
church triumphant. The new tomb 
was now opened, and the remains of one 
that was dear to many were laid there- 
in. The weeping willow was planted 
by her side, where, to this day, its 
drooping branches can be seen. The 
soft zephyrs of evening whisper low, 
amidst its rich foliage, as if afraid to dis- 
turb the deep slumbers of the peaceful 
sleepers. 

This spot became the favorite re- 
treat of AfEe and her father. At twi- 
light’s pensive hours they there min- 
gled their tears together. Unadmired 
by them, now rolled that beautiful ri- 
ver, that looked like a sheet of bur- 
nished silver beneath the full-orbed 
moon. Autumn with its golden robes 
had come — the lofty hills and spread- 


44 


ing plains had laid aside their rich ver- 
dure, while the neighboring groves 
were clothed in purple and gold. They 
were no longer made vocal by nature’s 
songsters, and silence held its reign. 
I The gentle breezes of summer had 
! ceased to kiss the slumbering flowers, 
while autumn’s rude blast tossed them 
to and fro till they fell from their tiny 
stems. Atfie often repeated, when in 
company with Mr. Radford : 


“ See the autumn’s tempest rising, 
Makes the lofty forest nod — 
Scenes in nature, how surprising, 
Read in nature, nature’s God.” 


Mr. Radford had at this time left 
Mr. Willard’s, and set up business for 
himself. Mr. Willard still continued 
in the mercantile business, and was 
highly esteemed by his patrons, not 
only for his honor in trade, but as an 
intelligent man ; he was a strong poli- 


45 


tician, arid was a constant contributor 
to political papers published in a neigh- 
boring town ; liberal, even to a fault, 
in his principles ; his bottle always 
stood upon his counter ; he was never 
indebted to his neighbors for a treat ; 
he always gave his friends a hearty 
shake of the hand, and “ I am glad to 
see you, sir,” accompanied by a well 
timed joke, that seemed to spring spon- 
taneously from his nature. His store 
was the general resort of the villagers, 
for they knew they would meet with 
a warm reception, or if they wanted a 
dram and had not the ready “ change,” 
or were too penurious to pay. the 
“ three cents, or sixpence,” by getting 
the start of Mr. Willard in wit, the 
full bumpers would be liberally dealt 
out to them. When the farmer came 
to market his produce, if he had rid- 
den a few miles in the cold, or the day 
was excessively warm, our friend had 


46 


always conveniencies in his store to 
make a hot toddy, so that he might 
go home saying “he was the best 
§ian that Roselle afforded.” 

Mr. Morse, after a man had fallen 
from his wagon, and broken both of 
his legs, in consequence of drinking 
too much of Mr. W.’s toddy, remon- 
strated with his friend, and told him 
the misfortune of this man was the 
consequence of his misguided liberali- 
ty. Mr. W. expressed many regrets, 
saying, as was his custom on such oc- 
casions, “ I had no malice at heart, I 
will go immediately and see him.” 
He took with him such things as ho 
thought the poor man would need, 
and did not forget to put in the jug of 
brandy. As he set it into his carriage 
he soliloquized, “ No one will object 
to this, it is just what the poor fellow 
needs,” 

Mr. Willard was not only liberal 


47 

with his brandy and wines, but was 
j always ready to take from his well 
I filled purse, and give to the poor. He 
was not a miser — he hoarded not his 
gold for the sake of counting his rus- 
ty cofiers. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE BATTLE FIELD. 

*' Hoof-torn, and sabre-scarred, they rest. 
Fathers, and sons, and brothers.” 

After several years of successful 
trade, Mr. Willard closed his business, 
and moved to Champlain. James 
Radford bought the”^ store of his for- 
mer employer, and purchased in New 
York a large assortment of goods, 
j which he in a few months, by his 
I peculiar tact in trade, was enabled to 
I 


48 

dispose of at a large profit to his 
numerous customers. At this time 
James Radford had been married to 
Affie De V an about fifteen years. Mrs. 
Radford had four interesting sons, 
whom she was endeavoring to teach, 
as she had been taught, to “ remember 
their Creator in the days of their 
youth.” The training of her sons de- 
volved principally upon herself. Her 
husband was kind, but was indeed a 
man of the world ; his mind was fully 
set upon becoming the richest man in 
town, and he was fast attaining his 
object. He was adding farm to farm, 
each in a state of high cultivation ; so 
that his numerous flocks and abundant 
harvests, together with the property of 
his store, one less avaricious than 
himself might have been satisfied 
with. He had reached further — he 
had now in full blast the largest dis- 
tillery in the state. There were a few 


49 

that mourned when they saw the 
smoke of that pit, where the worm 
dieth not, and the fire is not quenched, 
sending up its dark columns, mingling 
its impure vapors with the pure air 
of that pleasant village. 

About this time Mrs. Radford was 
called to pay the last tribute of respect 
to her aged father, who died with a 
broken heart. William De Van, the only 
brother of Mrs. Radford, first became 
the clerk and then the partner of his 
brother-in-law. The temptation being 
constantly before him, he became the 
victim of intemperance,and while under 
the influence of alcohol, he was induc- 
ed by a wicked companion that he had 
met in a distant city while on business, 
to pass counterfeit money to the amount 
of several thousand dollars. He was 
obliged to flee his country to escape 
the penalty of the laws. When, the 
news was brought to his father, he 

5 



50 

sank back in his chair and died in- 
stantly. 

William De Van was a child of 
many prayers. With such an example 
and such teaching, we might have 
expected better things of him, but he 
had looked upon the wine when it 
was red, and its delusive charms had 
allured him from the paths of virtue. 
K he had boldly withstood the tempter 
in his first assault, he would not have be- 
come his victim, or a disgraced outlaw. 

Mrs. Morse was like an elder sister 
or mother to Mrs. Radford, who had 
known but little of what the world 
calls adversity till now. She appreci- 
ated the sympathy of her friends, 
who saw in the distant horizon of the 
future a dark cloud arising. She 
knew that the husband of her friend 
was daily increasing in wealth. He had 
just laid the foundation for a splendid 
mansion, and now his whole soul seem- 



51 

ed absorbed in its completion, so he had 
but little time to sympathize with his 
wife. He would have been indignant 
if any one had told him that he did 
not love her — he designed to, and 
thought he did, devotedly. He 
romped with his children when in the 
house or yard, and praised his tea and 
coffee,' and declared that she was the 
best cook in New England. Some- 
times, when he thought of it, he would 
ask about her meetings. 

“ When I get our new house done,” 
he would say, “ and other business 
arranged, I shall attend church with 
you occasionally. I suppose you have 
forgotten the problem you gave me to 
solve, long, long ago.” 

Mrs. Radford looked inquiringly. 

“Why, when we were watching 
with friend Morse’s child.” 

“ One promise,” said she, “ I made you 
that night, which I have always kept.” 


52 

“ Yes, yes,” he answered hurriedly, “ I 
know that the prayer of the righteous 
availeth much. My good old mother 
used to pray a great deal for me, and 
I suppose that is what makes me such 
a pious man.” 

Mrs. Radford was about to answer, 
hut wishing to change the subject 
he asked, “ Did you know, Affie, that 
Lieutenant Morse returned Yester- 
day ?” 

“I have not heard of it, but how 
is his health, and what is the decision 
of the council ?” 

“ He is no better, and the physicians 
did not agree as to the cause of his 
disease.” 

“If it were I, I should be more 
discouraged than he is. He is spend- 
ing all his loose property in travel- 
ling and paying physicians ; this 
little village would sustain a greater 
loss than it ever has yet, should 



53 

he be taken away. I suppose you 
think, AflBe, that our loss would prove 
his gain.” 

“ I certainly do, for he has sought 
an interest in the blood of that 
Saviour that has made him an 
heir of God and a joint heir with 
Jesus Christ to an inheritance which 
is uncorruptible and undefiled, and 
that fadeth not away. When the 
earthly house of his tabernacle shall 
fail, he has a building not made with 
hands eternal in the heavens, upon 
which the eye of his faith seems stead- 
fastly fixed.” 

Mr. Radford said, “ I think he 
may yet recover ; I hope he will live 
till I get our new house done, 
so that he can see what a fine 
appearance it will make. I can bring 
water from the spring yonder, so that 
we can have a fountain playing night 
and day in our front yard. I obtain- 

5 » 



54 


ed a draught for it when I was in New 
York last. I tell you what it is, 
Affie, Switzerland does not afford a 
more delightful spot for a building 
than we have over here. I wish our 
friend Morse, instead of paying out a 
hundred to enlarge his library, had 
taken it to build a piazza ; it would im- 
prove the looks of his house very much. 
He had books enough before, he has 
more books than I should read and 
understand, if I should live to be as 
old as Methusaleh. I intend to gel a 
few nice volumes, w^hen we get into our 
new house.” 

Mrs. Radford was almost a silent 
listener, occasionally giving him a 
sorrowful smile ; as her husband took 
his hat and hurriedly left the house, 
she murmured low, “I had rather 
be a door-keeper in the house of 
my God, than to dwell in the 
tents of wickedness.” She called 


55 

her children together and prayed 
with them, earnestly beseeching God 
that they might be led to seek first 
the kingdom of heaven and its right- 
eousness, and also saved from becom- 
ing blinded by the God of this world. 
After her family devotions, which 
she never neglected, were concluded, 
she called upon Mrs. Morse, accom- 
panied by her two younger children. 
As she entered the yard, the three 
young Morses ran to meet her. George, 
Alpheus, and Odora were their names. 
There were also the three Bertrams, 
Walter, Josephine, and David. 

The children had just been listen- 
ing to an oration delivered by Theo- 
dore Williams, a bold, fine looking lad, 
who had been perched upon a stool in 
the centre of the yard. Josephine, as 
she walked up the path beside Mrs. 
Radford, pointed to the flowers and 
said, “Theodore reads these as he 


56 

would a^book, and he has repeated to 
us almost the entire oration that was 
delivered the fourth of last July. I 
don’t believe that brother Walter could 
say a word of it, and I do not know 
that poor David knows that there was 
a fourth of July.” 

Mrs. Radford entered the room, 
leading little Odora by the hand. 
J osephine had woven a beautiful wreath 
and placed it upon Odora’s head, which 
delighted her so that her dark eyes 
were brighter than ever. She clam- 
bered upon her papa’s knee, made a 
great display of her flowers, and jab- 
bered so fast, that he had scarce op- 
portunity to greet the ladies as they 
entered. He related the particulars 
of his recent journey, remarking that 
if he lived and his health would per- 
mit of it, he should visit the Medical 
Society at M. the coming winter, 
“ ‘ But to live is Christ, to die is gain.’ 


57 

I have been convinced for several 
months that what my hands find to 
do, I must do with my might ; for my 
days are numbered.” 

The solemn and anxious looks of 
those present did not escape Odora’s 
notice; she clasped her little hand 
each side her father’s face, kissing 
him again and again, “ You are sick, 
papa ; smell this pretty rose, it will 
cure you.” 

The fond father patted her, and 
set her upon the floor. She ran 
away, and was soon skipping and 
playing with the other children. At 
this time a gentle tap was heard 
at the door, and an aged lady, a 
mother in Israel, entered ; every one 
in this family was made glad when- 
ever they were blessed with a visit 
from grandma Graham. 

Mrs. Radford was much pleased 
that she was so fortunate as to meet 


58 

her dear friend ; she had often been 
blessed, and her spiritual strength re- 
newed in her society. Mrs. Morse was 
• unusually sad, and whenever her dark 
hazel eyes, full of tenderness, rested 
upon her husband, a shade passed over 
her countenance, a half-suppressed sigh 
escaped her anxious bosom. The good 
old lady observed this, and spoke words 
of comfort such as these ; “ Those 
that trust in the Lord shall be as 
Mount Zion. He has promised to 
hear his children in the day of their 
trouble.” She repeated a verse from 
her favorite hymn : 

“ How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, 

Is laid for your faith in his excellent word ; 

What more could he say than to you he hath said. 
You who to his bosom for refuge hath fled.” 

The old lady, in lower and more 
subdued tones, continued : 

“ When through the deep waters I call you to go, 
The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow ; 


59 


For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless, 

And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.” 

As she sat in the rocking-chair by 
the window, the wind had blown back 
her fine muslin border, which was full 
a finger deep — her silver locks were 
combed smoothly over her high but 
furrowed forehead. As she conversed 
upon spiritual subjects her countenance 
became radiant with hope. As the two 
ladies retired. Colonel Bertram entered. 

“ I am glad to see you home again, 
Lieutenant. I hope your journey has 
not been in vain; I am particularly 
anxious that you should get well, 
for if reports are true we shall need 
the services of all our officers.” 

The Lieutenant calmly replied, “ I 
hope the Government of Great Bri- 
tain and that of the United States 
will honorably settle their diflerences, 
so that there will be no need of oflS- 
cers or men.” 


60 

Colonel Bertram answered, “ There 
is blit little prospect of such an ad- 
justment of affairs. War is already 
declared between the two nations. 
Naval preparations are being made 
as fast as possible. I was on Com- 
modore McDonough’s sloop yesterday, 
— it is to be launched to-morrow; 
there is a small party going down 
to dine with the Commodore. I hope 
you and your lady will be among 
the number.” 

He told his friend that if he was 
able to ride, he would be in attend- 
ance. The two gentlemen spent the 
evening conversing upon the affairs 
of the nation ; party politics were no 
longer agitated. Colonel Bertram was 
anxious that his friend should accept 
a Captain’s commission, which had 
been offered him. The Lieutenant 
assured him, that his health would not 
admit of his accepting it. 


61 


The dinner party found the Com- 
modore well qualified to entertain his 
guests. The question was asked him, 
when he thought the British would 
make their attack. He answered, 
“ There is no doubt but that it will be 
on the Sabbath; this has been the 
day they have chosen on other occa- 
sions ; they are a Christian nation, and 
I know not why they should choose 
this day in preference to any other, 
unless it is because they think that 
we will be less prepared. It would be 
unjust to judge the English by the 
oflicers that are sent here as the aven- 
gers of their imagined wrongs ; they 
often assume a proud arrogance that 
seems not to be characteristic of the 
nation.” 

Mr. Graham, a revolutionary soldier, 
and for several months the Aide-de- 
camp of General Washington, re- 
marked, that he had heard his Com- 
6 


62 


mander-in-chief say, “that he never 
transacted business with more courte- j 
ous gentlemen than those employed 
by the British Government.” 

The aged veteran entertained the 
company by relating incidents con- 
nected with the revolution. As he 
spoke of the battle at Bunker’s Hill, 
his youth seemed to return again ; he 
arose hastily from the table, laid his 
cane upon his shoulder, to the no 
small amusement of the party, and 
with an elastic step promenaded the 
deck, assuring the Commodore that he 
should bear arms at Plattsburgh. 

The party returned home satisfied 
with the day’s excursion. Roselle pro- 
bably was never in so great an excite- 
ment at this time. War, war, was talked 
of in every family, newspapers sought 
and eagerly read, so that they were 
well acquainted with every movement 
of the Governn.ent. The long looked 


63 

for day of battle came. The boom- 
ing of the distant cannon was heard 
by the villagers of Roselle. 

Lieutenant Morse, in company with 
several of his friends, started that 
morning with a load of provisions 
such as he thought would be suitable 
for the suffering and wounded. Soon 
after the victory was obtained, he 
was upon the battle field, administer- 
ing to the necessities of distressed hu- 
manity, without respect to rank or 
age. The dying officers and the 
wounded soldiers blessed him, as he 
kindly raised their heads and bathed 
their fevered brows. He endeavored 
to console them by pointing them to 
the Lamb of God that taketh away 
the sins of the world. He continued 
his errand of mercy till he fainted upon 
the field. He was borne to a neigh- 
boring house by his friends, where he 
remained unconscious for several hours. 


64 

Mrs. Morse and Mrs. Graham did 
not spend the time in idle gossip; 
but in fervent and importunate prayer, 
not for their country’s victory alone 
but for the salvation of those souls that 
were being launched into eternity. 
They wept over the horrors of war, 
and those that were being made 
widows and orphans. There was no 
business transacted in the village that 
day. The young people climbed to 
the highest clefts of the rocks, so that 
they might hear the cannonading more 
distinctly. It might well be said, that 
Rachel wept for her children and would 
not be comforted because they were not. 

Colonel Bertram had been actively 
engaged in his country’s service, but 
upon hearing from his friend, he was 
immediately by his side. As he bent 
over his pale and exhausted form, he 
said, “ You should not have been here, 
you were too weak.” 


I 


65 


“ Duty called, and I obeyed,” said 
tbe sick man. 

He was then placed in an easy 
carriage, and conveyed to his own 
home, where he suffered for several 
weeks, after which he so far recovered 
as to be enabled to visit the then cele- 
brated Dr. Huntington, who plainly 
told him that there was scarcely a 
chance for hope ; his disease was such 
as to require a surgical operation. He 
gave such directions to his patient as 
were necessary. The Doctor, as he 
folded a billet, without raising his 
eyes soliloquized ; “ Seeing his days 
are determined, the number of his 
months are with Thee, thou hast ap- 
pointed his bounds that he cannot 
pass, turn from him that he may rest 
till he shall accomplish, as an hireling, 
his days.” 

And as he handed the note which 
he had just written to the invalid, 
6 * 


66 


continued : — “ Yes, tliere is hope of 
a tree, if it be cut down, that it will 
sprout again, and that the tender 
branch thereof will not cease.” 

As Lieutenant Morse took leave of 
his medical friend, he said, “ If a man 
die, shall he live again ? All my ap- 
pointed time will I wait till my change 
come.” 


. A,- 

CHAPTER IV:^ 

THE VICTORY. 

“ Our Eagle mounts on Freedom’s wings, 

And shouts ‘ The victory won,’ 

Her golden plumes reflect the light 
Of patriotic sons.” 

At this time, the village of Roselle 
presented a scene of festivity and joy. 
The glorious news of national peace 


67 

was heralded from city to city, and 
every village and hamlet was loud in 
their demonstrations of joy ; every 
house was illuminated, and long pro- 
cessions composed of men and boys, 
could be seen each with hands lifted 
high, bearing the lighted torch, 
mingling its brilliant light with the 
still more brilliant fire-bavin that 
blazed upon every hill-top. 

Our nation lifted up its voice in 
one long, loud paean of praise — its 
echo finding a kindred echo in every 
heart. The huzzahs of a free people 
who had valiantly defended their 
nation’s rights fell upon the ear of 
Lieutenant Morse as he slowly journey- 
ed homeward. He looked with in- 
terest upon the stars and stripes of 
his country, and rejoiced in the pros- 
pect that his beloved America would 
yet stand first among the nations of 
the earth. 


68 

The vast territories peopled with 
every nation, kindred, and tongue, 
were mapped out upon the mind of 
the weary traveller, who was glad the 
time had come, when the spear should 
be beat into the pruning-hook, and 
the sword into the ploughshare, and 
that the husbandman would not again 
be called to leave his husbandry to 
fight the battles of his country. He 
thought to himself, “The God of nations 
has watched over us and given us 
victories unparalleled in the annals of 
history ; and a halo of glory encircles 
the names of those who have led 
forth our armies from conquering to 
conquest. The banner of liberty is 
still unfurled, and we are free from 
the oppressions of those who would 
force upon us the galling yoke of 
despotism.” At this period much time 
was spent in conversing upon the past. 
Anecdotes were related and listened 


69 

to witli increased interest, by aged 
veterans imbued with the spirit of 
seventy-six; among whom, was Mr. 
Graham, the favorite of the neighbor- 
hood. Young men and boys were 
alike entertained, as he related to 
them the incident of Lord Howe 
writing to General Washington, and 
directing his letter to “ Mr. Washing- 
ton,” which the General returned un- 
opened, saying, that “he was not 
addressed in his public capacity, and 
as an individual he would hold no 
intercourse with the enemies of his 
country.” Theodore Williams said, 
“ If General Arnold had possessed 
such high-toned principles, he would 
not have proved traitor to his country, 
and the life of Andre would have 
been saved.” “ General Washington, 
my boy, did all in his power to save 
his life. Andre was one of the finest 
officers that I ever saw. At that 


70 

time I was ‘ Aide ’ of the General, and 
accompanied him when he visited the 
unfortunate prisoner. Letters were 
written him from the American 
officers expressing their deep sym- 
pathy in his behalf. Every means was 
taken which the usages of war would 
admit of, to induce the British to ex- 
change the heartless traitor that they 
had in their possession for Major 
Andre.” 

Several times the old gentleman, as 
he related the above, wiped the un- 
bidden tear from his furrowed cheek. 

Theodore asked his aged informant 
if Arnold was a temperate man ? 

“ In the early part of his military 
career he was, but afterwards he be- 
came reckless and dissipated ; this 
was the cause of his final ruin. If he 
had been temperate, as his commander- 
in-chief was, his name might have 
been inscribed with honor upon his 



11 

nation’s history. I tell you, Theo- 
dore, men of usefulness have been 
slain by thousands, men of strong, 
gigantic intellect, have recklessly torn 
from their own brows laurels that they 
have won, plunging themselves and 
their families into irretrievable infamy ; 
and before the fires of yonder distillery 
are extinguished, hundreds of this 
little village, that numbers only two 
thousand, will fill a drunkard’s grave. 
Twenty years ago there was not an 
inebriate that walked our streets, but 
how difierent now; this engine of 
destruction is daily increasing the 
number of widows and orphans.” 

The interview between Mr. Graham 
and his young friend was interrupted 
by the entrance of Colonel Bertram. 
He inquired after the health of 
Lieutenant Morse. Being informed 
that he was not as well as usual, he 
expressed his regrets that the accident 


12 

of yesterday was communicated to 
him. 

“ He was sitting by the window as the 
mutilated body was carried by on a 
shutter, which so affected him, that he 
fainted, and has not been able to sit 
up since,” said Mr. Graham. 

“ This is not the first accident which 
has happened in consequence of Rad- 
ford’s rum.” 

“It was not rum, it was cider 
brandy, some of his own manufacture. 
K I was Radford, I should rather live 
in a shanty than to live in his splendid 
mansion he talks so much about, and 
have that the price of blood. I thought 
when Stumbleton and his two chil- 
dren were burned to death, that 
Radford would be a little more careful 
to whom he sold his liquor ; but if he 
can get the money, it is evident he is 
regardless of the consequences.” 

The two gentlemen walked to the 


73 


house of their friend, where they found 
Dr. Williams seated by tho bedside of 
his pale and emaciated patient. Seve- 
ral weeks elapsed before he recovered 
from the shock he received. Mrs. 
Morse watched her husband unceas- 
ingly, anticipating all his wants — she 
listened in tearhil silence, as he talked 
with composure of his approaching 
dissolution. As she kissed the almost 
transparent lips of her husband, he said, 
“ I would be glad, Carry, if you could 
converse with me upon the subject of 
death more calmly.” 

Her tears were her only reply. 
At this moment Odora entered the 
room ; she approached the bed cauti- 
ously, and kissed the pale hand of her 
father as he extended it to her ; turn- 
ing to her weeping mother, she said, 
“Do not cry, mamma, papa is bet- 
ter; when he laid his hand on my 
head to bless me, he said all is 


'74 


well ; and will he not get well ?” The j 
attention of the child was soon di- i 
verted, and the parents were again | 
alone. 

Mr. Morse continued, “ Carry, when 
I am dead, I wish you, my dear, 
to write to Mr. Marteneau, and tell 
him that it was my request that 
he should take George as an ap- 
prentice. He is one in whom I have 
confidence. You had better keep 
Alpheus with you, and in our dear 
little Odora you will be blessed. I 
have endeavored to arrange my busi- 
ness so as to lighten in a measure the 
settling of my estate ; you will have 
grace given you to endure with pa- 
tience the loneliness of your widow- 
hood. You will soon be called upon 
to test the immutability of God’s 
promises. ‘ As thy day is, so shall 
thy strength be.’ He has promised 
to be ‘ a father to the fatherless and 


75 

the widow’s God,’ and into ‘ his hands 
I commit you.’ ” 

This memorable interview was in- 
terrupted by the announcement of Mr. 
Willard, who had heard of the sickness 
of his friend, and hastened to pay him 
his last visit. 

The two gentlemen had been sepa- 
rated for several years. Mr. Morse 
was glad of this opportunity to exhort 
and warn his friend to seek an interest 
in the blood of that atonement which 
had made him an “ heir of God and 
a joint heir with Jesus Christ, to an 
inheritance which is incorruptible, un- 
defiled, and that fadeth not away.” 
Mr. Willard had passed through trials 
during the interval of his absence, but 
these he scarcely referred to. He was 
then living with his second wife — his 
hopes for future happiness seemed 
concentrated upon his only son, Ash- 
bel, who was scarce a year old : cir- 


76 

cumstances made the responsibility of 
the father, unsustained by grace, with- 
out a parallel. The two gentlemen 
talked of the past and future, while 
one stood upon the verge of eternity, 
looking through the almost transparent 
veil that separated him from that ce- 
lestial city through whose pearly gates 
he soon expected to pass, to possess 
that reward, that is laid up for those 
who have “come up through great 
tribulations, and washed their robes 
and made them white in the blood of 
the Lamb” — where the sun would not 
smite by day nor the moon by night, 
where the glorious effulgences that 
burst from the face of the Lamb made 
radiant the mansion that Christ had 
gone to prepare for him. The other 
endowed with the richest gifts of na- 
ture, misapplying them, neglecting to 
obey God’s great command, to seek 
first the kingdom of heaven and its 


77 

righteousness, that he might claim the 
immutable promise, that all things 
should be added thereunto. He saw 
in his horizon a dark portentous cloud. 
Before the two friends parted, the in- 
valid requested to be bolstered up in 
his bed ; he opened his Bible, which lay 
constantly by his side, and read Ro- 
mans xii. After making some ap- 
propriate remarks on the scriptures he 
had just read, Mr. Willard then 
kneeled by the bedside, while the dy- 
ing man poured out his soul to God in 
fervent prayer for him from whom he 
was soon to be separated. As he arose 
from his knees, and took the hands 
that had been raised while in prayer, 
he said emphatically, “My inmost soul 
envies you ; your path is that of the 
righteous, growing brighter and bright- 
er up to the perfect day ; but I am in 
the broad road that leads to destruc- 
tion. I shall be left to call upon the 

7 * 


IS 

rocks and mountains to fall upon me 
and hide me from the face of Him who 
now sits at the right hand of the Fa- 
ther. He has called me, hut I have 
refused to obey grasping the hands 
still closer, with utterance choked 
with emotion, he continued, “Pray 
for me, pray for me, farewell, fare- 
well.” 

At this he hurried from the room, and 
sprang into his carriage and was soon 
out of sight. Mr. Willard had a long 
drive before him, but he resolved to 
reach home before he slept. It was a 
beautiful afternoon in June, nature was 
adorned with her richest robes. As 
the traveller gazed upon the lofty hills 
over which the distant mountains cast 
their venerable, shades looking gravely 
down into the deep valleys, meeting 
Flora’s milder gaze as she opened her 
finely painted lids, he thought the 
trees wore a livelier green, and the wild 


'^9 

roses exhaled a sweeter perfume than 
they were wont. He exclaimed : “Na- 
ture is indeed an inexhaustible store- 
house ; her treasures, how rich — her 
dominions are as yet unexplored.” The 
sun was sinking beneath the distant ho- 
rizon. As Mr. Willard was descending 
a long hill he espied upon an opposite 
one, a carriage containing several per- 
sons ; on approaching it, found it was 
the Rev. Mr. Bradley and his son ; the 
lady was introduced to him as Mrs. 
Bradley, the daughter of Mr. De Van. 
“ Is it possible that this can be Ame- 
lia ? I am just returning from Roselle. 
I spent several hours with Mrs. Rad- 
ford, they are getting along very 
nicely.” 

“Is Lieutenant Morse still alive?” 
asked Mr. Bradley. 

“ Yes, but his work is almost done. 
Did you call at my Hotel as you 
crossed the ferry ?” 


80 

“ We did, and your family were well 
— were they not, Amelia ? ” 

“ The little boy was quite sick.” 

“ Sick indeed ! who was taking care 
of him ?” asked the agitated father. 

“ I think it was the hired girl that 
was holding him. She told me that 
his mother had lain down.” “Lain 
down,” he bitterly repeated, “Fare- 
well, friends, call whenever you come 
to Champlain.” Striking his horse 
furiously, he dashed by them, and the 
sound of his vehicle was lost in the 
distance. 

Mr. Bradley, turning to his children, 
said, “ What a strange piece of com- 
position, everything of the man seems 
blended in his character ; he is a star 
of no small magnitude, but he is not 
moving in his own orbit.” 

The son answered, “ It is evident 
from his appearance that he is not 
governed by the laws of gravitation.” 


81 


“ I should judge him a shooting star 
by the hasty leave he took of us,” 
said Amelia. “His appearance con- 
firms the reports I have heard, that 
his home is not his paradise. I read 
a short time since an article from his 
pen, upon the ‘Fall of Man and his 
banishment from Eden.’ Milton has 
scarce bettered it.” 

Amelia asked her father if Mr. 
Willard still continued the traffic of 
intoxicating liquor. “If he does, 
others will have to write upon his 
fall.” 

“Yes, Amelia, he still continues it. 
I design, as soon as circumstances will 
permit, to deliver a course of lectures 
on the evils of intemperance, and I 
hope you, Charles, will take up the 
same subject, when you return to the 
people of your parish.” 

“ This duty, dear father, I have al- 
ready discharged, notwithstanding I 


82 

met with opposition. I believe the 
Lord has owned and blessed my labors. 
Some of my parishioners refused to 
assist in paying my salary. Amelia 
and myself have resolved to abstain 
entirely from the use of wines, save 
for sacramental purposes.” 

“ Well, my children, you are en- 
tirely ahead of me.” 

“ Why, father, Amelia has been en- 
gaged in organizing a Temperance So- 
ciety among the ladies. She has met 
with a good deal of opposition, but I 
rejoice that she is willing to have her 
name cast out as evil in the cause, 
which we consider so immediately 
connected with the cause of Christ. 
The measures she has adopted are con- 
sidered by many as robbing them of 
their personal rights. The question 
has more than once been asked, ‘ Do 
you not consider us capable of govern- 
ing ourselves V ” 


83 

“It certainly looks like signing 
away our liberty.” 

“ I think when we get to brother 
Radford’s we shall have something 
to do.” 

“ Well, my children, you will find 
you have a hard case to deal with, for 
your brother-in-law is blinded by the 
God of this world ; he only thinks of 
the best way of making money, re- 
gardless of consequences. He is as 
inaccessible to argument as persua- 
sion.” 

Amelia inquired if James was the 
only one in this business. She was 
informed that Colonel Bertram had 
opened a large hotel and also a store, 
in each of these he had a bar splen- 
didly decorated, and rendered attract- 
ive in every possible way. Mrs. 
Bradley sighed, and said, “ I should 
not have thought this gentleman 
would have resorted to measures so 


84 


disreputable as this.” The Rev. 
father looked astonished, and said, 
the Colonel would not prosecute a 
business which the law did not fully 
sanction. 

“ He employs his son as bar-keeper 
— he is a wild fellow, but a correct bu- 
siness man.” 

Charles inquired if it was Walter 
that he had reference to. 

“Yes, it is Walter, but he is as tall 
as his father.” 

“ It hardly seems possible, for he was 
a little boy when we left.” 

“ I think he must be large of his age, 
he is a head taller than Theodore Wil- 
liams or George Morse. Theodore has 
chosen the profession of medicine. 
George is to learn a trade — his father 
has made arrangements to this effect ; 
he will not leave home while his father 
lives.” 

Mr. Bradley informed his children 


85 


of the improvements that had been 
made in Roselle during their absence, 
describing to them their new church, 
telling his daughter that the ladies, by 
their united efforts, had furnished it. 
“ They are trying to get a communion 
set. Sister Radford informed me of 
this, in her last letter. I read it to a 
few of our sisters, and they resolved to 
aid them by sending those that we 
have formerly used; they cost about 
forty dollars, and are none the worse 
for being used. I have also a set of 
cords and tassels for the curtains. Two 
of our good sisters called on me the 
morning before I left B., and handed 
me fifteen dollars to assist you in get- 
ting your lamps.” 

Tears of gratitude filled the father’s 
eyes. 

“Thank you, my daughter; you 
have found it more blessed to give than 
to receive.” 


8 


86 


They were now within a half hour’s 
drive of Roselle. Every object was be- 
coming familiar to Charles and Ame- 
lia ; the mountains, hills, groves, val- 
ley, meadows, and green pastures re- 
minded them of other days. 

“ Do look, Charles, and see that field 
of green corn yonder ; it looks just as 
it did when we left here eleven years 
ago ; and look on that side hill too, 
see that flock of sheep. I should | 
think for all the world that it was the | 
same flock that I used to help Julia j 
Mason drive into the yard^when I was I 
a little girl, and that black-cherry tree 
— I have climbed to the top of it hun- 
dreds of times, and that old butter-nut 
tree, too, that stands by it, I have ga- 
thered butter-nuts there till my hands 
were as black as a chimney-sweep’s.” 

They had now reached the top of 
the hill that overlooked the entire vil- 
lage, and halted a moment that they 


87 

might gaze undisturbed upon the Eden 
of their childhood. The air was ex- 
hilarating to the weary travellers, for 
they had long been pent up in a dense 
city, and the ministerial duties of the 
young Mr. Bradley had been too nu- 
merous to admit of spending his sum- 
mers in the country, as is the usual 
custom of the city clergy. The cause 
of Christ lay too near his heart for 
him to indulge in inglorious ease, 
while the lambs of his flock required 
his unceasing attention. 


88 


CHAPTER V. 

BLIGHTED HOPE. 

** The gloomy ftiture bears 
No promise for to-morrow ; 

The taste of bitter tears 
Is the sole bread of sorrow.”— Lewis. 

How different were the feelings of the 
Bradley party, as they descended the 
long hill that introduced them to one 
of the loveliest villages in New Eng- 
land, from those of the unhappy Wil- 
lard, from whom they had been sepa- 
rated for a few hours. They had 
found the ways of virtue the ways of 
pleasantness, that all her paths were 
paths of peace ; and their minds were 
as free from clouds as the etherial 
arch above them, and as pure as the 
light that was poured from the silver 
lamps with which it was adorned. 


89 


They had ridden some distance in 
silence, each having a world within 
themselves, in which they were busily 
engaged. Amelia, aroused from a holy 
reverie, repeated : 

“ When I consider thy heavens, the 
work of thy fingers; the moon and 
stars which thou hast ordained, what 
is man, that thou art mindful of him, 
and the son of man that thou visitest 
him.” 

Charles continued, “ Who coverest 
thyself with light, as with a garment ; 
who stretchest out the heavens like a 
curtain ; who layeth the beams of his 
chambers in the winters ; who maketh 
the clouds his chariot; who walketh 
upon the wings of the wind ; who ma- 
keth his angels spirits, his ministers a 
fiaming fire ; who laid the foundations 
of the earth, that it should not be re- 
moved for ever.” 

There had a holy admiration diffused 
8 » 


90 

itself in each soul, and unfolded to 
them worlds, and systems of worlds, 
each containing an inexhaustible store- 
house, and each sufficiently accessible 
to call into action towering intellects, 
and where every order of mind will 
move harmoniously in its own sphere. 
They had each made the word of God 
their study; as the astronomer looks 
through his telescope and views the 
distant planets, so they used the word 
of God, which not only enabled them 
to look into the upper sanctuary, but 
unfolded its unfailing truths to their 
scientific minds; and was an uner- 
ring lens through which they could 
look with unsullied joy upon the vast 
machinery of art, and the untiring 
wheels of science. 

The same cloudless sky and the 
same jewelled lamps that were lighting 
the Bradleys to their home, were shed- 
ding their silver light upon the agi- 



91 


tated Willard, who urged his spirited 
steed on, and still on, tossing in his 
chaise from side to side, as the wheels 
struck the rolling stones that lay in 
his way. The road was hilly, and 
often very rocky ; but the unhappy 
man was unmindful of this. His brow 
darkened as he muttered to himself, 
“ Lain down, and the hired girl holding 
him ; it can’t be possible that Joe has 
given up the keys to her, for I charged 
him to keep the cellar and bar locked, 
for I knew that she would raise the 
devil with us all, if she got into either.” 

Mr. Willard had married his wife on 
a very short acquaintance. Her family 
had been wealthy — she had gone the 
giddy rounds of fashionable life — 
was intelligent and very fine looking 
— she had shone with brilliancy in the 
circles where she had been caressed 
and ruined — and had acquired a habit 
of intemperance, not only from her 


92 


father’s sideboard, but in the gay party 
where she had reigned a bright, par- 
ticular star. The now Mrs. Willard, 
during the years of her widowhood, 
had resided with the family of her j 
brother-in-law ; her extravagance and j 
intemperance had rendered her a bur- 
den to him, insomuch that he was 
ready to negotiate with friend or foe, 
who would rid him of one whose very 
presence had become loathsome. This 
gentleman, being an acquaintance of 
Mr. Willard, lost no time in recom- 
mending his sister-in-law to him. He 
visited her immediately, and was 
pleased with hdr appearance, even 
more than pleased — he was charmed. 
The brother and sister wanted every- 
thing made sure as soon as possible ; 
they well knew that it was impossible 
to keep Laura’s faults behind the cur- 
tain long. By cunning management, 
in less than a week, Mrs. Stillstiver 


93 

became Mrs. Willard. In two years 
we find her sleeping soundly in a state 
of intoxication, her only child sick, 
and left to the care of strangers. 

It was long after midnight when 
Mr. Willard reached his home ; he 
entered the house cautiously, and lost 
no time in making his way to the 
nursery, where he found the idol of 
his heart lying in his beautiful cra- 
dle in a disturbed sleep. He examined 
his head carefully, and discovering 
there were strong indications of con- 
gestion, ordered ice-water to be free- 
ly used ; on finding his little feet very 
cold, he had draughts applied; the 
watcher could not prevail upon him to 
lie down, he was constantly over and 
around the child, shedding bitter tears 
— the better portion of his nature was 
called into action. A few hours before 
he was the indignant husband, but 
now the weeping father, with a soul 


94 

as tender and gentle as that of a 
woman. In the morning Ashbel’s 
symptoms were more favorable, inso- 
much that he returned his father’s 
caresses with a smile of recogni- 
tion. 

When Ashhel’s mother entered the 
room late in the morning, she seemed 
not a little surprised to find her hus- 
band present. 

‘^You must have drove all night, 
Mr. Willard, to- have got home so 
soon.” 

He answered, ‘‘ After I heard Ashbel 
was sick I drove very fast.” 

“ How did you hear ?” inquired Mrs. 
Willard, somewhat surprised. 

“ The Rev. Mr. Bradley informed me 
of his sickness.” 

“ I was not aware that they had 
been here.” 

A shade of indignation passed over 
the face of the husband, who said, 


I 

95 

“ Our child is very sick, and needs the 
best of care.” 

“ Dr. Spencer was here yesterday.” 

Mr. Willard asked his wife if she 
did not think best to send for Dr. 
Livingston. 

“Why my husband, Dr. Spencer 
has always attended Ashbel, and I 
think he understands his constitution 
better than a stranger would.” 

“ That may be so, to be sure, but I 
tell you, Laura, I am distressed, I 
think our boy will die — if he does, 
I hope I shall go too.” 

“ You always talk and think just so 
if anything ails Ashbel ; I should 
think he was the very life-spring 
of your existence.” 

“ You may well think so, for you 
know that he is the only one in God’s 
universe that loves me.” 

“ Why, my dear, I love you.” 

“ Well if you do, go and fix your- 


96 

self up before the Doctor gets 
here.” 

Mrs. Willard had lost much of her 
self-respect, aud to the annoyance of 
her husband, paid very little attention 
to her personal appearance. 

Dr. Spencer entered the sick room, 
at this time. “ Ha ha, you have got 
home again, neighbor ! I should think 
that you had been out on a spree, and 
drawn through an auger-hole ; you had 
better go out into the bar-room, and 
take a glass of brandy, and you will 
look twenty-five per cent, better,” 
bowing as gracefully as his awkward- 
ness would admit of, to Mrs. Willard. 

“ Curse the brandy, I wish I had 
never heard of it. It will prove the 
ruin of us all ; but for heaven’s sake 
don’t fire another artillery before you 
look at your patient,” said Mr. Willard. 

The Dr., seating himself beside the 
child, took into one of his hands the 


97 

dear little wrist, while with the other 
he picked his eyelashes. 

“ Ashhel is easier than he was yes- 
terday turning to the table where 
he had deposited his valise, he pro- 
ceeded to deal out medicine. 

Mr. Willard, observing the large 
portions that he was dealing out, said, 
“ I should think those were large 
enough for an adult ; he is a weak lit- 
tle fellow, and cannot bear much.” 

The Doctor half angrily replied, 
“ I think, neighbor, you had better 
produce your diploma before you dic- 
tate to me in my profession.” 

“ Pardon me, Doctor, I had no ma- 
lice at heart.” 

“Malice or not malice, you owe me 
a treat, for not boxing your ears for 
your sauce.” 

“ Well, well, walk into the bar-room, 
ni pay that debt.” 

As the Doctor was about to take 

9 


98 


leave of the sick room, he turned 
to Mrs. Willard, “ I think I had bet- 
ter prescribe for you before I go ; I 
think that a sling well nutmegged 
will do you good,” casting, a meaning 
glance at the hired girl, as he spoke. 

Mrs. Willard affected a severe cough, 
and said with some hesitation, “I 
took cold yesterday, and I think some 
black strap would remove this tick- 
ling in my throat, and perhaps this 
soreness across me.” 

As they left the room, the Doctor 
growled to himself, “ Black strap ; Td 
give you hlach strap^ but it should be 
made of cowhide, if you was my 
wife.” 

Mr. Willard, not understanding this 
remark, said, “Come along, old growler, 
and get your treat,” handing him a 
bottle of brandy. As he was filling 
his glass almost to running over, Mr. 
Willard exclaimed, “ Hold on, don’t 


99 

get so drunk that you will not be able 
to come, if I send for you, before Dr. 
Livingston gets here.” 

“ Sent for Livingston, eh ? Well, send 

for him, and he be d d for all that 

I care.” 

Mr. Willard asked Joe, as he came 
up, “ How is Blitz this morning ?” 

“ Oh, he is so stiff that he can hardly 
move, I have been rubbing him these 
four hours.” 

“ What time was it when you left 
Roselle yesterday?” 

“I don’t know exactly, but about 
three o’clock.” 

“ And got here before two ; pretty 
hard drive that, ten miles an hour, and 
eleven in succession ; that is too bad, Mr. 
Willard, Blitz will never get over that.” 

Joe looked down and continued, “ I 
am sorry, sorry.” 

“ Joe, I am sorry too, but that is a 
small part of my sorrow.” 


100 

“ I know tkat, Mr. Willard ; how is 
onr little pet this morning ?” 

“ In reality he is no better, I must 
go to him. But by the way, did Bob 
take Doll when he went for the 
Doctor ?” 

. “ Yes, and it is time he was back. 
She is fleet as a bird — it don’t take 
long to go eight miles with her.” 

“ Joe, did you give Mrs. Willard the 
keys while I was gone ?” 

“ Certainly not.” 

“ Do you know where she got what 
she drank yesterday ?” 

“ I suppose I do. Agnes told me.” 

He hesitated, and seemed unwilling 
to tell. 

“ Well, Joe, what did Agnes tell 
you ?” 

“ Why she said, that she actually 
drank the rum that was used to wet 
bub’s head in.” 

Mr. Willard turned away in disgust, 


101 

groaning to himself, “ Has it come to 
this, has it come to this ?” 

With as much composure as possi- 
ble, he returned, where he watched the 
changing countenance of his child, 
and began to think that Bob was 
gone a great while. At length Agnes 
told him that Bob had come, and 
that the Doctor was not at home, and 
would not return till next day. But 
he left word for him to come as soon 
as possible. The tears of the father 
fell fast ; he knew that the disease was 
settling in his head. The mother 
wept several times through the day. 
Agnes said it was because she could 
not get her “ bitters but the hus- 
band and father did not think so. It 
is not easy to destroy the last vestige 
of confidence in one that we are desir- 
ous of loving. Mr. Willard pitied her ; 
he knew that the appetite she had 
acquired held her in a most cruel 

9 * 


102 

bondage. He saw that the once 
luxuriant springs of her nature were 
dried up, he still hoped they would 
live again. When he looked at the 
bloodshot eye and bloated face, he 
asked himself again and again. — 

“ And will the mother a monster prove. 

And fill a drunkard’s grave ? 

Oh, lend thine aid, Almighty God, 

There’s none but thee can save,” 

Mrs. Willard had for several times 
during the day urged her husband to 
lie down, but he was incorrigible, he 
waited anxiously for the Doctor’s 
arrival. At length, becoming alarmed, 
he sent for Dr. Spencer. After Joe 
had been gone long enough to return. 
Bob told Mr. Willard that the Doctor 
had been in the house nearly all day. 

“ Why didn’t you tell me before ? 
Tell him to come in immediately.” 

“ Tell him to come in,” Bob irnper- 


I 


103 


tinently replied. “ He is as drunk as a 
dog — dead drunk ; and I took him as 
I would a dog, three hours ago, and 
dragged him in the back ibom, so that 
there needn’t anybody see him. I 
should think by the noise that he has 
made the last half-hour, that he 
thought the day of reckoning was at 
hand, by the way he has cast up his 
j accounts. I’ll be bound if I don’t be 
thrown over-board before I’ll clean up 
after him.” 

Mr. Willard’s heart sank within him 
as he closed the door upon his inform- 
ant. Again he bent over the little 
sufferer, and shed more bitter tears than 
he ever shed before. He said, without 
raising his eyes, “ Laura and Agnes, we 
must do all we can for him, as we 
cannot obtain medical aid.” 

He was soon laid in a warm bath, 
his convulsions ceased, and symptoms 
of consciousness appeared ; his extre- 


104 

mities were rolled in flannel, and cold 
applications were applied to the head. 
As his mother handed him his drink, 
he opened his eyes and smiled. 
Agnes in a flood of tears exclaimed, 
“He knows us, lie knows us — he hasn’t 
looked so rnuxh like himself before, 
to-day.” 

Everything was done for the child 
that kindness could invent. Agnes 
more than once during the evening 
went to her little room and knelt down 
and asked God to bless the means that 
were being used for the restoration of 
the child. Mrs. Willard appeared 
more like a mother than she had ever 
seen her before, and for this she endea- 
vored to return thanks. She resolved 
to watch with him during the night, 
though she was very much fatigued. 
But her sufferings were always for- 
gotten when she saw that she could 
be useful. Hearing an unusual noise 


105 

in the bar-room, she hastened down 
and called Joe to the hall, and told him 
that the house must be kept quiet, for 
Ashbel’s life depended upon it. 

“ I thought he was better,” said Joe. 

“His symptoms are, but he is so 
weak.” 

“ Well, Agnes, I will do all I can to 
keep the house still, but that is not 
much !” 

“Joe, will you tell me what that 
noise was that I heard just now ?” 

“ I suppose I can, if that will be any 
satisfaction to you.” 

“No particular satisfaction, only I 
hope the like will not be heard again,” 
said Agnes, turning to leave him. 

“Agnes, don’t be in a hurry. I 
don’t think Mr. Willard knows much 
what is going on in his house. Dr. 
Spencer has been so that he couldn’t 
navigate all day, and he is a particular 
favorite of Mrs. Willard’s ; if he hadn’t 


106 

been, I should have sent him adrift be- 
fore this.” 

“ You shouldn’t mind that, Joe, she 
is only a cipher in her family.” 

“A cipher, she is less than a ci- 
pher.” 

“Well, Joe, I hope she will do bet- 
ter; she has appeared better to-day 
than I have ever seen her ; I hope she 
will reform.” 

“ Your faith is stronger than mine, 
you walk by faith and I by sight. 
Just give her a chance to get at the 
cellar or bar, and then see if she 
wouldn’t make as much noise in meet- 
ing the floor as the Doctor has.” 

“Why do you give it to him, 
then ?” 

“ I hav’n’t given him a drop to-day. 
Willard made him drunk this morning 
the first thing ; and he has been sit- 
ting for the last half hour looking 
more like an ourang-outang than 


i 107 

I a doctor. And Christie, not much 
I better off than himself, has been pok- 
j ing all sorts of fun at him, and at last 
has poked him over with a glass of 
I fourth-proof brandy ; you may depend, 
Agnes, he would not have got it if I 
had thought he was going to give it 
to the Doc. There was half a pint of 
it, and he had only just swallowed it 
when he fell his whole length upon 
the floor. Bob and I took him up and 
laid him on the settee, and put an old 
cushion under his head, and I guess 
he will sleep till morning.” 

“Well, Joe, get the house still as 
soon as possible.” 

“Don’t worry, there shall be no 
more noise to-night ; but you look pale 
and sick, Agnes, you had better go to 
bed.” 

“ Not to-night, Joe, for Ashbel needs 
a great deal of care.” 
tAgnes returned to the room, and 


108 

found the child in a sweet sleep. Mr. 
Willard was by the table writing, 
and the mother had fallen asleep in 
her chair. When she awoke she urged 
her husband to lie down ; he con- 
sented, after looking at his watch and 
finding that it was near one. Agnes 
and the mother were left alone with 
the child. Mrs. Willard’s deport- 
ment during the day and night had 
done much to establish herself in the 
confidence of her husband and nurse. 
They had drawn the cradle near a 
large open window, where Mrs. Wil- 
lard had seated herself, enjoying the 
quietude of the house as she, gazed 
upon the waters of the lake which 
were spread out before her ; she re- 
solved in her own heart to rid herself 
of the restraint and gratify her uncon- 
querable appetite. She had, in part, 
accomplished this ; her husband was in 
a sound sleep. “ But how shall I die- 


109 


pose of Agnes ? She watches me every 
step I take.” She laid plan after plan, 
but in her own judgment she was 
thwarted. She had now hit upon the 
right one; her eyes flashed with 
fiendish pleasure. She arose and went 
to Agnes, laid her hand kindly upon 
her head and said, “How pale you 
look, Aggy ; you are ill, are you not ?” 

“ Oh, no ! Mrs. Willard, I am only 
weary.” 

“ I wish you would lie down, I can 
take care of Ashbel.” 

“ It will be too much for you — I 
will sit with you.” 

“ Then I will make a julep ; which 
will you have, Aggy, lemon, winter- 
green, or mint ?” 

“ I will take the mint if you please, 
and I would like it pretty sweet.” 

Going to the table, she prepared 
two glasses, and added to Agnes a 
strong decoction of opium. She said, 
10 


110 

as sbe banded tbe glass to Agnes, 
“We shall both be tbe better for drink- 
ing it.” 

Tbe unsuspecting girl drank tbe 
most of it witbout tasting ; taking 
tbe glass from her lips sbe said, “ Mrs. 
Willard, I was not aware that mint 
was so bitter.” 

“ Mine is a little bitter, but it is very- 
good ; you bad better drink all of it.” 

Agnes did so, and ate tbe sugar from 
tbe bottom. Mrs. Willard seated her- 
self by tbe window, waiting the result 
of her infernal deed; a short time 
showed that it was effectual. Sbe saw 
that it was impossible for her faithful 
nurse to keep awake, and again went 
to her, patted her playfully on her 
cheek, “Come, dearest, you must lie 
down, you will fall out of your chair ; 
let me lead you to your bed.” Agnes, 
stupified, yielded to tbe entreaty, and 
suffered tbe monster to almost carry 


Ill 

her to an adjoining room, where she 
lay till late the next morning in a 
state of unconsciousness. Mrs. Wil- 
lard, being left to herself, stealthily took 
from the pocket of her husband the 
key of the bar. She lost no time in 
unlocking the magazine of death, 
taking from the shelf a large decanter 
well Mled, and returned to the side of 
her babe and commenced her de- 
bauch. 


V 


112 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE INEBRIATE WIFE. 

“ Man sinks beneath misfortune’s blow. 

And hope forsakes his breast ; 

His boasted powers are all laid low, 

His strength is swallowed up in woe. 

When not by woman blest,” 

F.J. Waiers. 

The sky, that had been clear the fore- 
part of that memorable night, had 
suddenly become overcast, and the 
fair face of the moon was veiled in a 
drapery of gloom; and the distant 
thunder told of an approaching storm. 
By the red glare of the lightning, the 
pale face of the sufferer could be seen, 
as he lay near the open casement. 
The midnight lamp remained untrim- 
med, shedding a sickly light upon a 
scene that baffled description. Mrs. 


113 

Willard continued to drink till she 
was too much intoxicated to attend to 
the wants of her suffering child ; he 
was often disturbed by her clumsy hands 
rummaging about for she knew not 
what. Emptying her glass again, i 
she sank back in her chair, and was j 
insensible to what passed around her. j 
The rain was now pouring in torrents, i 
a strong wind was blowing in at the i 
window, carrying in large drops which 
fell upon the cradle, until the thick 
blankets were wet through and 
through. 

The inebriate finally lost her equili- 
brium, and fell heavily upon the floor. 
The noise awoke Mr. Willard, who 
rushed from his room. For a moment 
he stood horror-stricken at the scene 
before him ; his wife made an attempt 
to rise by seizing upon the edge of the 
cradle. Before the distracted father 
could reach the cradle, it was turned 
10 * 


114 

over. He sprang forward, took the 
child in his arms, and with one blow 
he sent his wife to the floor, to all 
appearance lifeless ; for a moment 
silence reigned unbroken save by the 
death rattle of the child Joe and 
Bob hurried to the scene of sufiering. 
They were frightened by the maniac 
glare of Mr. Willard, as, grating his 
teeth, he ordered them to take the 
monster out of his sight. She was 
immediately borne to another part of 
the house. Mr. Willard continued 
to pace the apartment with his dying 
child folded tight to his bosom, and 
was deaf to all entreaties. His deep 
groans and distorted features told of 
the dreadful tempest within. At 
length Dr. Livingston came as he had 
been requested. Alighting from his 
sulky, he met several gentlemen com- 
ing out of the house. The Doctor bade 
them a polite “ good morning,” adding. 


115 

‘‘ I did not expect to meet so many of 
you at this early hour.” One of them 
told him that they had been called to 
hold an inquest over the body of 
Dr. Spencer. The astonished Dr. 
started back. 

“ What was your verdict ?” 

“ Died in consequence of intemper- 
ance.” 

Joe led the way to a scene still more 
agonizing. The Doctor entered the 
room unobserved by the bewildered 
father, who was still walking up and 
down with long unmeasured strides, 
folding close to his heart the lifeless 
body of his child. The Dr. turned 
pale as the sepulchral voice repeated, 
“ Darling, you are not dead — you will 
not die.” It w^s some minutes before 
Dr. Livingston had strength of nerve 
to speak to him. Laying his hand 
upon his shoulders, he endeavored to 
call back the mind that had wandered 


116 

in a labyrinth of thought unaided by 
reason. He seated him in a large 
arm chair, and took from him the 
body of his child which for the last 
two hours he had folded convulsively 
to his bosom. Dr. Livingston saw 
strong symptoms of brain-fever ; after 
bleeding him copiously, he ordered a 
large blister upon the neck, he watch- 
ed him closely through the day, 
allowing no one to enter the room 
but his nurse. 

The body of Hr. Spencer w^as carried 
to his own house. Preparations for 
Ashbel’s funeral were made. Bob 
and Joe were faithful to perform every 
duty that devolved upon them. 

Agnes was unable to do anything 
about the house till late in the after- 
noon. She then found enough to do. 
Mrs. Willard did not insult any one 
with her presence. When Agnes 
inquired of Bob for her, he said she 


117 

was alive, but it was a pity she had 
not died instead of Blitz ; “ for she is 
not 'worth three hundred dollars, and 
that is what Mr. Willard paid for him, 
less than a week ago.” 

“ Oh, Bob, Mrs. Willard has a soul to 
be saved or lost.” 

“ Don't talk to me of her soul ; she 
drowned that long ago.” 

Mr. Willard so far recovered, that 
they ventured to ask him who he 
would have to preach the funeral ser- 
mon; he was unable to make a re- 
ply, for the first time since the cruel 
tragedy his bursting heart found re- 
lief in tears. He was confined to his 
room for several weeks, and during 
this time no reference was made to his 
wife or child. 

The Rev. Charles Bradley, as he 
journeyed home, called at the hotel 
of his unfortunate friend. He en- 
deavored to administer to him that 


118 


consolation that the world cannot give. 
He saw that the wound he had re- 
ceived, was deep, but he assured him, 
“ That there was a Balm in Gilead, 
and a Physician there, and that Christ 
was an high Priest, that would be 
touched with the feelings of his in- 
firmities.” 

The bereaved sufierer listened in 
tearful silence. 

The faithful man of God continued, 
“Jesus Christ came not into this 
world to call the righteous, but sinners 
to repentance. ‘ Though thy sins be as 
scarlet, they shall be white as snow — 
though they be red like crimson, they 
shall be as wool.’ ” 

Mr. Bradley said, “ I would advise 
you to close your bar as soo» as pos- 
sible, and discontinue the use of ardent 
spirits in any form, and add to thy 
knowledge, temperance. ‘ They shall 
receive the reward of unrighteousness 


119 

that count it pleasure to riot in the 
day time ; spots they are, and blem- 
ishes ; sporting themselves with their 
own deceivings.’ Decision of character 
sir, is what you need, and without 
it you are lost, lost for ever.’ ” 

“ I am lost already ; the last tie that 
bound me to earth is severed, and 
what have I to live for now ?” 

“ You have everything to live for, 
sir ; live that you may add to your 
knowledge temperance, and to tem- 
perance patience, and to patience 
godliness, and to godliness brotherly 
kindness, and to brotherly kindness 
charity, and with this combination of 
virtues, you will be enabled through 
grace to live the life of the righteous ; 
and at last to come off conqueror, 
yea, more than conqueror, through 
Jesus Christ, whose pity and forgive- 
ness are commensurate with your re- 
pentance.” 


120 


“ Mr. Bradley, I have no objection 
to your theology, and your reasoning 
ought to commend itself to the judg- 
ment of every reflecting mind. I have 
long since learned from the word of 
God, that the happiness of two worlds 
must be derived from a cheerful acqui- 
escence in the truth which is alone cal- 
culated to elevate and sanctify our 
fallen natures. I have found the way 
of the transgressor hard; it has blight- ^ 
ed my future prospects, and rendered 
my own existence loathsome. When 
I met you on your way to Roselle, I 
had something to live for ; my ex- 
pectations had failed in one, but in 
another I had hoped to more than 
realize them ; man appoints, but God 
disappoints.” 

“Mr. Willard, in the general accept- 
ance of that, it is true, ‘therefore, 
saith the Lord ; behold I lay in Zion 
for a foundation, a stone, a tried stone. 


121 


a precious corner stone, a sure founda- 
tion ; lie that believeth shall not make 
haste.’ You see, sir, that the worldly 
expectations of the righteous and the 
unrighteous are alike cut oft*. 

“ ‘ The little a righteous man hath is 
better than the riches of money.’ 

“ ‘ He that loveth pleasure shall be a 
poor man.’ 

“ ‘ He that loveth wine and oil, shall 
not be rich.’ 

“I would not, my friend, be a prophet 
of evil to you, but if you continue 
your present business, your riches will 
take to themselves wings and fly away ; 
and God hath declared, ‘that judg- 
ment also will I lay to the line, and 
righteousness to the plummet, and 
hail shall sweep away the refuge of 
lies, and the waters shall overflow the 
hiding place.’ I have prolonged this 
interview with you, sir, beyond my ex- 
pectations, but I leave the result in the 


122 

hands of one who is able to bring 
light otit of darkness. I shall return to 
my people in the city of B , bet- 

ter prepared to labor for the cause of 
temperance, than when I left. I 
resolved in Roselle to be valiant in 
this work.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Bradley had more 
than once wept over the desolation 
that this evil had already made in 
their native village. 

On the evening of their arrival in 
Roselle, they had gazed -with admi- 
ration upon its quiet beauty. They 
had for years thought and talked of it, 
as. it was in the days of their child- 
hood.. 

As the carriage rolled along its al- 
most deserted streets, they could see 
by the clear light of the crescent moon, 
that time had wrought its changes 
upon many an old familiar way-mark. 
The elder Mr. Bradley turned his 


123 


horse into the avenue that led to his 
own door ; the tall cedars that over- 
shadowed them, waved their luxuriant 
branches, welcoming them to the 
quietude of their happy home. 

The eyes of Charles filled with tears 
as he thought of his then sainted 
mother, whose blessing and smile had 
so often greeted him, as he had re- 
turned from his boyish sports, or the 
arduous duties of a student; but a 
grateful resignation filled his heart 
as he thanked God for blessing him 
with a praying mother. 

As he entered the house, his eyes fell 
upon objects still more familiar. Late 
as it was, he could not retire until 
he had gone from room to room; 
everything seemed just as it did when 
he was a boy. He told Amelia, that 
he heartily i-ejoiced in New England’s 
stereotyped mode of house-keeping. 

On entering his former study, they 


124 


found his old slate hanging upon the 
wall where he had placed it eleven 
years before, and a sentence written 
upon it by himself was still legible. 

Amelia read without any trouble, 
“ He that loveth father or mother 
more than Me, is not worthy of Me.” 

“ Amelia, read the sentence under 
it. My dear mother wrote it with her 
own hand.” 

“ ‘ Go ye into all the world, and 
preach the Gospel ; how beautiful 
upon the mountains are the feet of 
those that bring glad tidings !’” 

“ Amelia, these words to me have 
been and are yet, like ‘ Apples of gold 
in pictures of silver.’ ” 

There was one spot sacred to him 
he had not as yet visited — that was 
his mother’s room. 

His father led the w'ay to it — there 
hung his mother’s portrait at full size, 
with her mild blue eyes looking down 


125 

upon them, with all their wonted 
loveliness. Mr. Bradley continued to 
weep over the portrait of his mother, 
until his father reminded him of the 
lateness of the hour. With hearts of 
gratitude, they bowed together around 
the family altar, and thanked God for 
his persevering care, after singing, 

“Thus far the Lord has led me on, 

Thus far his power prolongs my days, 

And every evening shall make known 
Some fresh memorial of his grace.” 

They ascended the old stair-case 
that led to their room. Wearied as 
they were with their long journey, the 
past and the present were alike for- 
gotten. 

They arose early next morning, and 
after a thorough reconnoitre of the 
old homestead, observing and ad- 
miring every improvement that had 
been made during their absence, the 


126 

carriage was brought to the door, an d 
they drove to the house of Mr. Rad- 
ford, who received them with his usual 
bland welcome; while the two sisters 
mingled in silence their tears and ca- 
resses. 

Mrs. Bradley had many incidents 
of interest to tell her sister, who had 
as many to relate in return — what in- 
terested one interested the other. 
Their brother William was in all their 
thoughts, but they ventured not that 
day to mention his name. 

Mr. Radford busied himself by 
driving from farm to farm, accompa- 
nied by his brother-in-law, and telling 
him how many thousand dollars he 
paid for this or that piece of ground, 
congratulating himself upon his ‘ luck,” 
as he called it, to foreclose the mort- 
gage before the owner was able to 
redeem it, by saying, “ I was sorry, 
but was obliged to oust them, for 


I 

127 

I could not have my money lay 
idle.” 

Mr. Bradley sighed as he saw several 
familiar farm-houses tenanted by 
strangers. As they neared the vil- 
lage, he discovered a dense smoke in 
a remote part of it, and inquired of 
Mr. Radford what it was ; he informed 
him that it was the smoke from his dis- 
tillery : “ And whether you believe it 
or not, that brings me in more cash 
than all my landed property. But I 
suppose you would have some misgiv- 
ings of conscience about this affair.” 

“My conscience would not allow 
me to have anything to do with it, 
and God will bring you to judgment 
for this. ‘ What profiteth a man if 
he gain the whole world and lose his 
own soul.’ ” 

“ Oh, pshaw ! Affie has jingled that 
in my ears ever since I laid the founda- 
tion to that distillery. Yes, she pitch- 




128 

ed the tune before we were married ; 
but she has not found me a very 
tractable scholar. She gave me that 
very same problem to solve almost the 
first time I ever saw her. As you 
have more time, and are a better ma- 
thematician than myself, I will make 
a transfer of it to you, ; you will have 
time during this and Sunday, to study 
it all out ; you will no doubt have the 
blessed privilege of preaching in our 
new church before you leave town.” 

Mr. Bradley gravely said, “ I con- 
sider it a blessed privilege to preach 
the Gospel, which Christ came into 
the world to establish, teaching men 
to do unto others as they would have 
others do to them, commanding them 
to love their neighbors as themselves. 
These principles adopted and practised 
would check the tide of intemperance, 
and rend the dark veil of selfishness 
that covers your heart, which keeps you 


129 


from seeing the woes that you are 
causing others to feel. If the evil 
servant shall say in his heart, ‘My 
Lord delayeth his coming ; and shall 
begin to smite his fellow-servants, 
and to eat and drink with the 
drunken; the Lord of that servant 
shall come in a day when he looketh 
not for him, and in an hour that 
he is not aware, and shall cut him 
asunder and appoint him his portion 
with hypocrites, there shall be weeping 
and gnashing of teeth.’ ” 

“ Well, brother Bradley, I have 
heard that before, for old Mr. Graham 
and Lieutenant Morse have been for 
the last five years throwing bomb- 
shells into my encampment, charged 
with just such passages of Scripture 
as you have just repeated. But I 
manage to keep out of their way as 
much as possible ; but when Theodore 
Williams^ comes squibbing about, I 


130 

try to give him back as good as he 
sends. He had the impudence to tell 
me a few days ago, that he that 
hardeneth his neck or heart, I don’t 
know which ’twas, for it was all the 
same to me, only one is a little 
higher than the other, should be de- 
stroyed, and that without remedy. 
He is a smart fellow, but I don’t like 
him, he meddles with that which is 
none of his business.” 

“ Mr. Radford, you probably think 
that all who talk to you on this sub- 
ject do the same.” 

“ Well, I generally let folks talk as 
they please, and I do as I have a 
mind to. If I did not manufacture 
the article, somebody else would. 
Col. Bertram is as deep in the mud 
as I am in the mire ; he retails as 
much or more than I do ; and Walter 
tends his bar in spite of his wife or 
Josephine. He has in his hotel a 



131 

pretty good tenant by the name of 
Swinton. Walter boards at home, so 
that he can be under his mother’s eye 
a little more. I am told that he already 
draws pretty hard upon his father’s 
purse-strings, and I think he will still 
harder, if he keeps on as he com- 
menced ; it is necessary to hold 
him with a close rein, but the Colonel 
is very indulgent. Shall we call at 
Lieutenant Morse’s ?” 

“Not until to-morrow; what lit- 
tle girls are those iust outside the 
gate ?” 

“ The one with the pink sun-bonnet 
is Florence Bertram, the other is 
Odora Morse. Odora is the idol of 
her father and mother. Poor child ! 
she will soon be left without a father, 
but she will always find friends.” 

Mr. Bradley said, “ God has promis- 
ed to be a fa^er to the fatherless, this 
promise will be fulfilled.” 


132 

Mrs. Radford had waited tea a full 
half hour, when the gentlemen arrived. 
As soon as the cloth was removed, 
Mr. Radford proposed a walk to his 
new house ; the two sisters were soon 
bonneted and on their way. Mr. 
and Mrs. Bradley admired the loca- 
tion ; the building was indeed a 
superb one, no pains or expense had 
been spared in its architecture. 

Mrs. Bradley asked her sister what 
lads those were playing ball opposite 
them. Mrs. Radford told her that 
they were Theodore Williams, George 
Morse, and Walter Bertram. 

“ Why, I thought they were men, 
from what I had heard of them.” 

“Walter thinks he is, since his 
father has taken him from school and 
placed him in the hotel ; tall as he is, 
he is not seventeen.” 

“Dear Affie, I am astonished at 
Col. Bertram pursuing such a course ; 


133 


and I should think it would break 
Mrs. Bertram’s heart.” 

“ She does feel very badly ; but 
Walter does not attend to his studies, 
their motives were good in taking 
him out; and his father’s were no 
doubt good in making him his bar- 
keeper. Mr. Swinton does most of 
the business, but Walter has the credit; 
he is simply employed in the com- 
pounding of slings and punch.” 

“ Oh, Atfie, he is in the direct road to 
ruin !” 

“I am convinced of that, Amelia, 
and I think his mother has fearful 
apprehensions, but she will do all in 
her power to counteract the influence. 
They talk of sending him away to 
school, but unless there is a change 
in him, it will be useless. He takes 
as much pride in showing the key of 
the bar, which he carries, as Theodore 
does in reciting his Greek and Latin, 


134 

or as George in discharging the duties 
which devolve upon him in conse- 
quence of his father’s sickness. George 
is one of the best boys to his parents. 
He is often on his feet from morning 
till night ; when he is not, he is 
engaged in posting his father’s books. 
Look at him, Amelia, for you can see 
that he looks pale and care-worn ; 
different entirely from the other two.” 

“ How long is it, AflSe, since Mr. 
Morse lost his health ?” 

“ It will be two years next month. 
He patiently kisses the rod and the 
hand that appoints it. He has for a 
long time appeared entirely weaned 
from this world, waiting for his master 
to say, come up higher. I have visit- 
ed him during his illness, and have 
always been spiritually benefited. 
His sick room is the vestibule of 
heaven.” 


135 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE DEPARTED. 

“ We laid him in his quiet grave, 

A rural, soft retreat ; 

And turned our faces from the spot 
With slow, unwilling feet; 

We raised no graven monument 
Above his humble sod— 

My father was ‘ an honest man, 

The noblest work of God !’ ”—B. Coe. 

On their return home, Mrs. Bradley 
inquired for her early friend, Julia 
Mason, then Mrs. Forsythe. 

“ She returned to us last August in 
a confirmed consumption, brought on 
by her unceasing labors and exposure 
among the Indians of the North-West, 
where she and her husband were sent 
as missionaries. Two of the natives 
became so attached to them that they 
could not be induced to be left be- 



136 


hind ; they, therefore, came here with 
them and remained till after her death 
in November. She, indeed, went forth 
weeping, bearing precious seed ; af- 
terwards returned rejoicing, bringing 
her sheaves with her.” 

Mr. and 'Mrs. Bradley, accompanied 
by their sister, called upon their sick 
friend. He was unable to converse 
with them, but a holy smile lit up his 
countenance ; while his friends were 
standing around his bed, he beckoned 
his children to his bedside. Laying 
his hand on their heads, he pointed up, 
silently invoking a blessing for the last 
time for them ; then took the hand of 
Mrs. Morse, pressing it to his lips, ut- 
tered an audible “ farewell,” lifting up 
his eyes and hands to heaven, and, 
without a struggle, fell asleep in the 
arms of Jesus. 

Friends gathered around the be- 
reaved family, each anxious to give 


13Y 

some expression of love for the de- 
ceased, and their sympathy for the be- 
reaved. On the funeral occasion, Mr. 
Morse’s military friends paid that re- 
’spect which was due an officer worthy 
of their highest trust. The procession 
which was formed at the church, to 
follow him to his final resting-place, 
was half a mile in length. At this 
time there was assembled a larger 
concourse of people in Roselle than 
had ever assembled on any other oc- 
casion. Mrs. Morse felt deeply the 
loneliness of her widowhood, she rest- 
ed entirely upon the promises of God 
who saith, “ I delivered the poor that 
cried, and the fatherless, and him that 
had none to help him. The blessing 
of him that was ready to perish came 
upon me ; I caused the widow’s heart 
to sing for joy.” “ Leave thy father- 
less children, I will preserve them 
alive, and let thy widows trust in me ” 
12 * 



138 

Mrs. Morse, in a few months after 
the death of her husband, according 
to agreement, sent George to a distant 
part of the state to learn a trade, 
leaving her fatherless child to the care' 
of Him who had promised to protect 
him. 

George kept a journal, and sent it 
to his mother monthly; by this she 
was enabled to correct and encourage 
him when she thought it necessary; 
and he was kept informed of every- 
thing of interest that came under his 
mother’s observation. A few months 
before the time of his apprenticeship 
expired, his mother wrote the particu- 
lars relative to Mr. Radford’s death, 
informing him also that Colonel Ber- 
tram had, two years before, built a 
distillery about a mile from the vil- 
lage. The circumstances connected 
with Mr. Radford’s death were of the 
most aggravating character. One year 


139 

before the time above-mentioned, he 
made an attempt to destroy his own 
life by taking poison. He arose early 
in the morning, as was his custom, and 
walked over to his store and drank 
what he designed to be his last 
draught, and returned immediately to 
his house, and told Mrs. Radford, on 
entering, that he should be dead in 
less than an hour, and also what 
he had done. Dr. Williams was im- 
mediately sent for, who administered 
medicines to counteract the poison, 
proving, in part, effectual in its opera- 
tions, b^ut a continuation of suffering 
was the lot of the poor inebriate. 

He afterwards accomplished his de- 
sign by opening the jugular vein. In 
the character of Mrs. Radford, when 
passing through this trial, the sustain- 
ing grace of God was manifested. 
When she entered the room where 
her suicidal husband sat, he gave her 


140 

a sign of recognition ! No shriek of 
horror escaped her lips ; pale and 
trembling she knelt by his side and 
continued to agonize before God in 
prayer, filling her mouth with argu- 
ment, urging her suit with confidence 
until the wearied spirit took its flight. 
Every eye was filled with tears but 
hers. 

** Her lifted eyes without a tear 
The gathering storm could see ; 

Her steadfast heart, it knew no fear. 

That heart was fixed on Thee.” 

Incidents similar to this brought the 
public mind to realize the necessity of 
doing something immediately to check 
the evil with which they were being 
overwhelmed. Amid the opposition 
of prejudiced minds a Temperance So- 
ciety was formed ; Dr. Theodore Wil 
Hams was their President. He la- 
bored faithfully with Walter Bertram, 



141 


and at length succeeded in obtaining 
his “ pledge.” 

Colonel Bertram gave up the manu- 
facture and sale of alcohol, and did 
what he could to repair the evil that 
he had been the means of bringing 
upon society. Josephine did all that 
was in her power to divert the mind 
of her brother from his former asso- 
ciates. Dr. Williams did what he 
could to assist her, and success seemed 
about to crown their efforts, — Walter 
unexpectedly broke his pledge, threw 
off the restraint of home, and re- 
solved to go south. He told his deter- 
mination to his sister ; she wept and 
entreated. He was blind to one, and 
deaf to the other. When Josephine 
communicated to her father and mo- 
ther Walter’s intention, they settled 
upon him several thousand dollars, 
hoping that this would be an induce- 
ment for him to stay at home ; but in 



142 


this they were disappointed. As soon 
as possible he made arrangements to 
leave for the South, where he coTild 
drink from the cup of pleasure un- 
mingled by the tears of Josephine, and 
undisturbed by thy prayers and sighs 
of his mother. 

Mrs. Morse and Mrs. Radford often 
visited the Bertram family in their 
affliction. Mrs. Radford read a letter 
in one of her visits to Mrs. Bertram 
from her sister Amelia. The contents 
cannot be uninteresting to the reader ; 
I therefore insert it : 

“ Dear Sister : — It is with mingled 
feelings of joy and sorrow that I write 
you. Both are alike designed for our 
spiritual good ; but I must not fill up 
my sheet with preliminaries, for I have 
facts to communicate which are of 
more importance. A few days ago, in 
one of my missionary rambles, I was 
directed by a friend to call on the wife 


143 


of an inebriate who had been confined 
for a long time to her wretched apart- 
ments by sickness. I discovered at 
once tliat she was intelligent, and had 
seen better days. 

“ I endeavored gently to draw from 
her something of her former history. 
She was reserved, and did not seem 
disposed to speak of it. I forbore in- 
quiring for her husband. Before leav- 
ing, I read and prayed with her. I 
put my hand to my purse, and was 
about to take from it a small sum ; 
meeting at the same time her mild 
dignified eye, I resolved to send it, 
thinking we both should be less em- 
barrassed. On taking my leave of 
her she politely invited me to call 
again. I told her that I should be 
happy to continue my acquaintance. 
She smiled while the tears came to her 
eyes. As early as possible, the next 
day I was at the bedside of my new 


144 

friend. She was alone, excepting the 
nurse which I had sent her the eve- 
ning before. She seemed more willing 
to converse, and I ventured to- inquire 
for her husband. She told me that he 
had been absent for several days. 

“ ‘ On business, I suppose,’ said I. 

“ ‘ Perhaps so,’ she answered, but 
colored deeply. 

“ I asked how long they had re- 
sided in B . She said ‘about five 

years.’ I found that her husband was 
out of business, and she had labored 
incessantly to obtain a livelihood, until 
she could no longer endure the strong 
tide of grief that had been a long time 
preying upon her. She had loved her 
husband devotedly, and was still un- 
willing to have a shadow of blame 
rest upon him. 

“ As I was about leaving the house, 
I met her husband at the door. His 
coat and pantaloons were ragged and 


145 ’ I 

soiled. As my eyes met his, my heart ! 
sank within me ; he looked embarrass- 1 
ed, and passed by without speaking, j 
Before I got home I missed my pocket- j 
handkerchief. I retraced my steps i 
and re-entered the door unobserved, j 

and overheard Mr. Gilbert ask his | 
wife who I was ; being informed, he 
said he was sorry I had found where 
they lived. 

“ ‘ I have tried to keep out of their 
sight ever since we moved here.’ I 

“ ‘ I don’t see why you should do so, 
they are good people. Did you ever j 
know them ?’ j 

“ ‘ When I lived in Roselle I was ac- j 
quainted with Mrs. Bradley.’ I 

“ ‘ I wish, my dear, you would renew I 
your acquaintance.’ 

‘“No, never ; I would be glad to for- 
get them if that were possible ; I have 
ruined you and myself. I have re- 
solved a thousand times in my heart 

13 


146 


to reform, and you know, Lida, that I 
have three times taken the pledge, 
and have broken it. It is impossible 
for me to reform while the temptation 
is before me ; if there was a law to 
prohibit the sale, there would be some 
chance for a man to reform, but as^ it 
is, it is impossible.’ 

“ ‘ During this I had been sitting 
on a stool in the hall, as curious to 
listen as I was unwilling to dis- 
turb; during their conversation, my 
thoughts returned to the scenes of our 
childhood and youth, for there was 
something in the dark eye of that stran- 
ger, that I had just passed, and of whose 
veiled history I had obtained an out- 
line, which awakened a train of strange 
suspicion that had never before been 
awakened on any similar occasion. I 
had seen poverty stretching out her 
bony arms, and the poor inebriate 
clothed in rags. I have heard the cry 


147 


of the famished child, and witnessed 
the tears of the heart-broken mother. 

I had seen the bloated and drunken 
husband stagger thoughtlessly by the 
lifeless remains of his murdered wife — 
all this without thinking that it was 
possible that I should ever meet our 
dear brother. It was not easy for me 
to do that which I did, leave the house 
and seek my own home, without an 
explanation. I related the above to 
my husband, who proposed to accom- 
pany me to the house of. the invalid. 
We called the next day, hoping to 
find Mr. Gilbert in. Biddy, the nurse, 
said that he had been absent seveval 
hours ; we found Mrs. Gilbert not as 
well as she was the day before. She 
had a high fever, and her cough had 
increased. I inquired of Biddy the 
cause ; she said, ‘ this is rent-day, and i 
they have no means of paying.’ j 
“ Mr. Gilbert did not rest during the j 


148 

night. He has gone to seek work ; 
their landlord was here early this 
morning, and threatened to set every- 
thing out of doors, if the rent was not 
settled before night. 

“Mrs. Gilbert was taken with a 
heavy chill while she was here, and has 
been growing worse ever since. Just 
before you came in she took from her 
bosom this gold locket, containing the 
likenesses of her father and mother, 
and wished me to leave it at the pawn- 
broker’s. She kissed it so many times 
before she could give it up, and said, 
‘Must I part with this last relic of 
happier days !’ ” When I took it from 
her hands she raised a large quantity 
of blood, and it was as much as I 
could do to keep the breath of life in 
her. 

“ Biddy’s tears said plainly that 
if she had the money, this treasure 
should not be taken from the sufferer. 



149 


I handed her a sum sufficient to de- 
fray the demand, and directed her to 
return the locket to the owner. She 
did as she was bid. 

“ On re-entering the room, the eyes 
of the patient sufferer were closed; 
one of her pale lady-like hands was 
raised in a devotional attitude. With 
a noiseless step I drew near, and wait- 
ed until she opened her eyes ; they 
rested upon me, beaming with holy 
gratitude. It was evident she looked 
beyond the frail instrument, to the 
Great Author and Giver of every good 
and perfect gift. — She was too weak to 
converse. 

“We left a note requesting Mr. Gil- 
bert to call on his return home ; as 
our invitation was not accepted, we 
visited his house that evening, and 
found him too much intoxicated to 
converse intelligently upon any sub- 
ject. He lay upon a bench in the 


I 



150 


kitchen, muttering to himself, ‘William 
De Van has come to this.’ Lida, the 
wife of our dear brother William, 
suffered a few days, and then bade 
‘ farewell ’ to this sin-cursed earth, and 
her pure spirit returned to the God 
who gave it. 

“ William is now with us ; we are do- 
ing, and shall continue to do all in 
our power, for his spiritual and tem- 
poral good ; he has consented to again 
'take the pledge. His judgment is 
convinced that ‘ wine is a mocker, 
strong drink is raging^^ and whoso is 
deceived thereby, is not wise.’ 

“ Pray, dear sister, that his appetite, 
which has become a tyrant, may be 
conquered. From your affectionate 
sister, Amelia.” 

The ladies listened with the deepest 
interest to the reading of Mrs. Rad- 
ford’s letter. Each had had in their 
turn the wormwood and the gall 



151 

mingled in the cup of their blessing ; 
this had taught them to weep with 
those who weep, and rejoice with 
them that rejoice. 

While the ladies were thus engaged 
in Mrs. Bertram’s parlor, a scene of 
interest was transpiring outside. As 
Odora and Florence were sporting 
upon the lawn, chasing their hoops 
with the elasticity of youth, with 
hearts as pure as the evening breeze, 
that tossed without compliment the 
flowing ringlets of Odora, as she bound- 
ed forward to outrun her more frail 
companion ; she stopped suddenly and 
exclaimed, “Dear, dear Flory, how 
beautiful, how beautiful, look yonder !” 

“ Where, Odora, shall I look ? 

“ Over to the church,” pointing in 
that direction. 

“ Odora, I do not see anything that 
is so beautiful, — what is it ?” 

“ Do not see anything ! The sun’s 



152 

rays cause those gothic windows to 
look like one broad sheet of burnished 
gold, and the fluttering of that silver 
leaf poplar forms the richest prisms I 
have ever seen ; the leaves must still 
be wet from the recent showers, for 
there could not be such a rich combi- 
nation of colors without them.” 

As the girls stood admiring that 
which no eye can look upon with in- 
difference, unless the heart is veiled in 
selfishness, they were unexpectedly 
greeted by their pastor, Mr. Bradley. 
He was pleased to see the silent but 
intelligent gaze of both the girls ; he 
asked Odora what it reminded her of. 
“Of Heaven,” she modestly replied. 

“Why does it remind you of Heaven, 
Odora ?” 

“ I do not know, Mr. Bradley, unless 
it is because the Revelator speaks of 
the streets being paved with gold; 
and I should think the sun’s rays 


153 


upon them would look something like 
the scene before us.” 

“ My child, do you think the mate- 
rial sun lights up the city of the New 
Jerusalem ?” 

“ No, sir, the Lamb of God shall be 
the light thereof.” 

“ Odora, does it say anything of 
the light of the material sun ?” 

“ I think, Mr. Bradley, it says some- 
thing like this, ‘ the sun shall not 
shine by day, nor the moon by night 
mamma told me the other day that 
the time would come when the right- 
eous should shine as the sun in the 
kingdom of his Father’s glory.” 

“Odora, God has said, that ‘he 
would be a sun and a shield to the 
righteous ; and no good thing would 
he withhold from those that walk up- 
rightly.’ Do you believe this, Odora ?” 

With downcast eyes she answered, 
“Yes.” 


154 

“ My dear Odora, do you love the 
Lord Jesus Christ?” 

“I think I do.” 

“ Why do you love him ?” 

“ Because he first loved me.” 

Tears of gratitude ran down the 
cheeks of the aged pastor, as he re- 
peated, 

“Youth is the time to serve the Lord, 

The time to insure the great reward ; 

And while the lamp holds out to burn. 

The trembling sinner may return.” 

He walked away. The attention of 
the two girls was soon diverted, by 
sounds unlike that which they had just 
been listening to. On looking across 
the street they saw several boys of 
the lower class hedging up the way 
of poor David Bertram, as he was 
returning from the post-office ; they 
had thrown handfuls of dirt into his 
face until he could scarcely see to go, 
tripping him up as he turned to make 


165 


bis escape; a tall over-grown boy 
with a red face and inflamed eyes 
struck tbe sufferer as be was about to 
regain bis feet, saying in a rough 
coarse voice, “Defend yourself, or I 
will keep you here till night.” Odora 
as quick as thought rushed into their 
midst and commanded them to desist, 
with so much dignity that the brutal 
clan stood abashed. She stooped 
down, and with the help of Florence 
assisted David to arise from the 
ground on which he was sitting ; and 
with their kerchiefs they brushed off 
the dirt as well as they could from 
his fine broadcloth. 

Florence was sobbing aloud ; while 
Odora indignantly told the boys that 
they ought to be ashamed to insult 
and abuse one that was entirely un- 
able to defend himself. 

“ He is a fool,” retorted one. 

“ If he is,” answered Odora, “ he is 



166 

wise enough not to return evil for 
evil, a knowledge which teaches him 
not to degrade and demean himself as 
you have done on this occasion.” 

The tall red-faced boy said sneer- 
ingly, “ I had a hen crow this morning 
and I killed her, and I think her 
spirit has entered Miss Odora Morse, 
the queen of Roselle.” 

Odora, still maintaining her dignity, 
said, “John Windsor, I fear that you 
are in the broad road that leads to 
destruction.” 

A little boy affirmed what Odora 
said, by telling her that John had 
been down to Col. Bertram’s old dis- 
tillery, and had found an old barrel 
containing a quart of cider-brandy, 
and had drunk freely of it himself, 
and given the others all that they would 
take. Odora heard with astonish- 
ment, and resolved that if her teacher 
would let her select her next subject 


157 


for composition she would write upon 
the “ Evils of Intemperance.” 

As Florence and Odora led David 
awajj Florence asked her brother, 
“Why he did not try to get away 
from those wicked boys ?” 

“ 1 did try.” 

“ I should have thought you would 
have struck them back again.” 

“That would have been wicked, 
Flory; Jesus didn’t strike when the 
wicked men struck him.” 

“I don’t know but they would 
have killed you, if we had not come 
and helped you.” 

“ The wicked men killed Jesus too !” 

The girls wept all the way home. 
The intellect of David had been in- 
jured when a child, and his health 
so much impaired that they seldom 
allowed him to go out alone. He 
sometimes went to the post-office 
when there was no one else to go, as 

14 



158 


he had on this occasion ; he was 
kind and affectionate in his disposi- 
tion, and so conscientious, that he 
always chose rather to suffer wrong 
than do wrong. Josephine had 
taught him to read some; he was 
constantly in the society of his mother 
and sister, and they had been permit- 
ted to see that the Scriptures were so 
plain, “ that the way-faring man, 
though a fool, need not err therein.” 
David entered the house with his 
mouth partly open, and handed his 
mother a letter, saying at the same 
time, “ I hope, dear mamma, that it is 
from Walter.” Mrs. Bertram did not 
doubt this as her eye fell upon the 
post-mark. Walter informed his 
mother that he was about going into 
business, and hoped she would not be 
anxious about him. “ The circle 
which I now move in, is a respectable 
one. Tell Joe, if she makes up her 


159 

mind to take up the practice of medi- 
cine, that I hope she will be success- 
ful. I shall return in about two 
years.” 


. \ 

■ S' .• > 

A' ' 

. ■ ■ ■ it ' jg >' j tf- 


160 


1 


CHAPTER EIGHTH. 


THE FOREBODINGS. 

*‘ If shadows track our earthly way. 

To press the spirit’s lightness. 

Heaven can clothe the darkest day 
In evening’s golden brightness.” 

T. A. WORRAL. 

Col. Bertram was seated by the 
table busily engaged in reading a let- 
ter that David had handed him. 
When he laid it aside, Mrs. Bertram 
handed Walter’s letter to him ; he 
sighed, and said it would be a long two 

years before he would return. ‘‘ But 

•/ 

I suppose we may as well hope for the 
best. The letter I have just received 
is from Champlain; our old fiiend Mr. 
Willard has thought of us again, but 
it is evident from the contents, that 


161 


there are others whom he thinks still 
more of ; he has been a widower se- 
yeral years.” 

Mrs. Bertram said she should think 
ho would be afraid to marry again, as 
he was so unfortunate in his last wife. 

“ Matilda, he is on the right track 
now, if he can gain the prize.” 

“My dear, what prize has he in 
view ?” 

“ It is no less than our dear Mrs. 
Morse.” 

After a few moments’ silence, Mrs. 
Bertram said, “ That would never an- 
swer.” 

“ I know, Matilda, there is a differ- 
ence between the former character of 
Mr. Willard and that of Lieutenant 
Morse, but I am credibly informed 
that there is a thorough change in 
Mr. Willard ; he looks entirely differ- 
eat from what he did seven years 
ago.” 


14 * 


162 


“ When did you see him ?” 

“The last time I went to Montreal, 
I met him, he told me that after the 
death of his wife, which happened 
about four months after that of his 
child, that he rented his hotel, and 
moved upon a farm ; he spoke in high 
commendations of the Rev. Charles 
Bradley, and said that his last inter- 
view with him had proved a great 
blessing; he has just informed me 
that he has corresponded with Mrs. 
Morse.” 

“And you think, Matilda, it wont 
answer at all ?” 

“ I do not know, I am sure ; I know 
that Mrs. Morse is very anxious to 
educate Odora, and Alpheus needs a 
father.” 

Mr. Bertram inquired if Alpheus 
was not a good boy ? 

“ His disposition is selfish and stub- 
born.” 


1 . 


163 

“ Does Mr. Willard wish you to nego- 
tiate for him 

“ It is pretty near that ; he wishes 
me to speak a good word for him, and 
I think I shall.” 

“Why, Matilda, he is worth twenty- 
five thousand dollars, and what a home 
that will make for her and her fa- 
mily.” 

“ Mr. Bertram, Mrs. Morse will ne- 
ver have a pleasanter home than she 
has now ; throw back the curtain be- 
hind you, and look out at the window.” 

“We do have a fine view of the 
cottage from this window, but those 
beautiful shade trees, those full blown 
roses, nor that luxuriant brier, that 
has climbed to the eaves of the house, 
will not educate her children, nor 
support her in her old age.” 

“ I see, my husband, that you are 
fully in favor of Mrs. Morse becom- 
ing the wife of Mr. Willard.” 


164 


“It would be bard to be sepa- 
rated from her, and the village needs 
her society and influence ; and Odora 
will soon be a young lady; our 
Florence is very much attached to her, 
I wish she could always be her com- 
panion.” 

Mr. Willard visited Roselle, several 
times during the summer, and again 
in the fall, carrying away a prize 
which had been appreciated there for 
more than twenty years. 

Odora was very sad when she took 
leave of her friends, and when the car- 
riage drove away from what had been 
her happy home, through her tears she 
bade it “farewell.” It was a cold 
bleak November’s day, and sometimes 
Odora’s heart sank within her, when 
she thought of what she had left behind. 
Alpheus sat by her side, but it hap- 
pened to be one of his cross days, so 
he paid but little attention to his sister. 


165 

Odora pointed to a large spreading 
tree that was stripped of its foliage, 
and in an iinder-tone told her brother 
that she was like it. 

lie pugnaciously answered her, 
“ I don’t know how you are like that 
great tree, unless it is because you 
feel so big.” 

Her dark blue eyes filled with tears 
as they mildly rested upon him. 

“ Don’t talk so, dear brother, I only 
meant that we had left all our dear 
friends in Roselle.” 

“ Well, if that is what you meant, 
I should think you are more like 
the leaves under the tree than any- 
thing else ; that large beech has got 
large roots, and it is very evident that 
our roots were not very deep ; if they 
had been, this Champlain wind would 
not have upset us and blown us so far 
from our native soil.” 

Odora laughed more to make her 



166 


brother good-natured, than because 
she was happy, and said, “ Oh, you 
I include yourself, you use the plural I 
see.” She leaned over and placed 
her arms around his neck, and kissed 
the brow that had been all day frown- 
ing upon everything his eyes rested 
upon, and gently said, “ Dear brother, 
if we are only rooted and grounded 
in Christ, these changes will lead us to 
place our affections on that God that 
changeth not. We shall no doubt 
be happy in our new home ; Mr. Wil- 
lard looks very pleasantly upon us ; he 
told me this morning that he intended 
to send us to the best school in the 
state.” 

“ He will probably send us back to 
Roselle then,” was Alpheus’s reply. 
“ He told me this morning, that he 
designed to send us to the Academy 
at Mount Hope.” 

“ Well, brother, that is the very 


167 

place I have wanted to go to for a 
long time, and how pleasant it will 
be if we can be there together.” 

“ That if has blighted the hopes of 
a great many, Odora, — if mother had 
not taken it into her head to get mar- 
ried, we should have been at home, 
and if she had sacked him we should 
not have been lashed into shoe-strings 
by this north wind, that almost freezes 
my ears, with no prospect of its abat- 
ing, for the clouds are as black as 
night.” 

“Dear brother, let me repeat to you 
Shelley’s beautiful poem upon the 
cloud, and the wind wont blow half so 
hard, nor the clouds look half so 
black.” 

“ Well, let us have it then ; anything 
to kill time. You will no doubt do it 
justice, seeing you are a poetess.” 

“ ni do my best, so we will have it. 



168 


I. 

“ I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 
From the seas and the streams ; 

I bear light shades for the leaves when laid 
In their noon-day dreams. 

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 
The sweet buds every one, 

When rocked to rest on their mother’s breast 
As she dances about the sun. 

I wield the flail of the lashing hail. 

And whiten the green plains under. 

And then again I dissolve it in rain. 

And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

n. 

“I sift the snow on the mountains below, 

And their great pines groan aghast ; 

And all the night ’tis my pillow white. 

While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 

Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers. 
Lightning my pilot sits. 

In a cavern under is fettered the thunder. 

It struggles and howls at fits ; 

Over earth and ocean with gentle motion. 

This pilot is guiding me. 

Lured by the love of the genii that move 
In the depths of the purple sea ; 

Over the rills and the crags and the hills, 

Over the lakes and plains. 

Wherever he dream under mountain or stream, 
The spirit he loves remains. 

And I all the while bask in heaven’s blue smile. 
Whilst he is dissolving in rain. 


169 

m. 

“ The sanguine sunrise with his meteor eyes 
And his burning plumes outspread, 

Leaps on the back of my sailing rock 
When the morning star shines dead. 

As on the jag of a mountain crag. 

Which an earthquake rocks and swings, 

An eagle alit one moment may sit 
In the light of his golden wings. 

And when sunset may breathe from the lit sea be- 
neath. 

Its ardours of rest and of love. 

And crimson pall of eve may fall 
From the depth of heaven above. 

With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest 
As still as a brooding dove. 

IV. 

“That orbed maiden with white fire laden 
Whom mortals call the moon 
Glides glimmering o’er my fieece-like fioor. 

By the midnight breezes strewn ; 

And whenever the beat of her unseen feet, 

Which only the angels hear. 

May have broken the woof of my tent’s thin roof, 

The stars peep behind her and peer ; 

And I laughed to see them whirl and fiee. 

Like a swarm of golden bees. 

When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent. 

Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, 

Like strips of the sky fallen through me and high. 
Are each paved with the moon and these. 

15 


170 


V. 

*' I bind the sun’s throne with the burning zone 
And the moon’s with a girdle of pearl ; 

The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, 
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl, 

From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape. 

Over a torrent sea. 

Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof. 

The mountains its columns be. 

The triumphal arch through which I march, 

With hurricane, fire, and snow. 

When the powers of the air are chained to my chair 
Is the million-colored bow ; 

The sphere-fire above its soft colours move. 

While the moist earth was laughing below. 

VL 

“ I am the daughter of earth and water. 

And the nurseling of the sky, 

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores, 

I change, but I cannot die. 

For after the rain, with never a stain 
The pavilion of heaven is bare. 

And the winds and sunbeams with their convex 
gleams. 

Build up the blue dome of air, 

I silently laugh at my cenotaph, 

And out of the caverns of rain, 

Like a child from the womb, like ghost from the 
tomb, 

I arise and unbuild it again.” 


171 


“ Well, Odora, that is beautiful ! I 
almost fancy that the sun is shining. 
Odora, are you acquainted with the 
character of Shelley ?” 

“ Not extensively, I have read his 
poems ; are you, Alpheus ?” 

“ I read a brief biography of his 
not long since ; there were traits in his 
political character that pleased me, 
but he was one of those that never 
matured anything, half of his poems 
are in an unfinished state.” 

“ Alpheus, the one that I have just 
repeated is finished ; in my humble 
opinion there are finished touches in 
this, that cannot be surpassed; and 
there is the poem addressed to the 
Lord Chancellor on his removing his 
children, under the false pretence of 
his not being capable of bringing 
them up. While he prays for the 
blighting curse to rest upon his ene- 
mies, there is a development of fra- 


112 

ternal love, though the finest feelings 
of his soul had been outraged ; it 
ought to answer as an apology for 
the strong expressions that are embo- 
died in that petition. I know that the 
spirit of that prayer is unchristian.” 

“ I suppose, Odora, when he wrote 
that, he thought the time had come 
when there was no virtue in forbear- 
ance ; and I am coming to that con- 
clusion myself, for I am hungry and 
cold.” 

Handing his sister a strip of paper, 
on which he had written — as he had 
several times during the day — what 
he dare not speak. 

“ I wonder when our new dad will 
haul in for the night.” 

They soon hove in sight of a 
large hotel, where they were to spend 
the night. They enjoyed the large 
fire that was blazing upon the hearth. 
While the supper was being pre- 


173 

pared Odora was seated by a small 
table, busily reading ; when her bro- 
ther interrupted her by asking what 
book she had. 

“ It is the Champions of Freedom.” 

Feigning great surprise he gravely 
repeated, “ the Champions of Freedom! 
What, a novel ! I thought you were too 
pious to read such a book as that ; I 
read it last spring, and while I was 
doing so you sang ‘ Old Hundred’ with 
your face as long as my arm” — stretch- 
ing his arm at full length — “ compa- 
ratively speaking, my dear sister.” 

“ Why, Alpheus I how unaccount- 
ably absurd ; I did not know that 
you had ever read it.” 

“ Oh, you did not 1” Turning away 
with an air of pleased satisfaction. 

Mr. Willard during their ride had 
overheard part of their conversa- 
tion. He saw there was a difference 
in the character and taste of the 


174 

brother and sister ; he admired Odora, 
and did not dislike her brother. 
The next day was a bright beauti- 
ful one, and they drove rapidly 
towards their new home. Odora gave 
her brother a slip of paper on which 
was written, “ I am curious to know 
how our new home is going to look — 
I wonder if there are shade trees and 
flowers, and what kind of a house do 
you suppose we shall live in ?” 

“ Well, Odora, if you want my 
ideas I can give them to you. In the 
first place, we are to be farmers, and I 
suppose our house will be an old story- 
and-a-half wood colored building, 
kitchen and dining-room in front, par- 
lor in the attic, and our bed-rooms 
down cellar. It is very probably situ- 
ated in the middle of a cornfield, with 
a potatoe patch in front, the grand en- 
trance shut in by a pair of bars, a 
corncrib on each side forming an ar- 


175 

cade tlirough wliicli we shall pass 
when we go to milking — a row of sun- 
flowers on one side of the walk and 
broom-corn on the other, forming a 
luxuriant shade during the summer 
months, with dandelions and daisies, 
occasionally throwing back their green 
veils looking up to see if their tall 
neighbors are like to bring in an 
abundant harvest.” 

“ Hush, Alpheus, you are too ridi- 
culous. I am sure I shall like living on 
a farm very much, for there are more 
kinds of work we shall learn to do than 
we could do if we lived in Roselle.” 

“ Odora, don’t mention Roselle 
again in my hearing, for that has be- 
come as unpleasant to my ears as my 
graphic description has to yours.” 

“ Well, Alpheus, there will be one 
thing that we both shall be happy in.” 

“ What is that, sis, for I am sure 
that I want to be happy ?” 


176 

“ I am sure that you do not try to 
make yourself very happy.” 

“Don’t stop to preach a sermon, 
before you tell me what we are to be 
happy in.” 

“ It is dear little Alba, Mr. Wil- 
lard’s adopted daughter ; she is to be 
our sister, she is about five years old.” 

“ Is she pretty ?” inquired Alpheus, 
somewhat interested. 

“ Mr. Willard says she is — look 
yonder, brother, and see that beautiful 
situation !” 

“It does look pleasant at a dis- 
tance ; I think I should like to live 
there.” 

In a few moments the carriage 
stood in front of a large arched gate 
which was opened by a well dressed 
laborer. Mr. Willard drove up the 
long avenue, skirted by the tall pines 
and the more modest mountain ash. 

Mr. Willard again halted at a small 


Ill 

wicker gate that led to the front 
door, out of which ran one of the 
sweetest little girls Odora had ever 
seen. 

“ Oh, papa, you have got home, you 
have got home.” 

Mr. Willard, as he took her in his 
arms, kissed her, and turning to assist 
Mrs. Willard to alight, said kindly to 
Odora and Alpheus, “ Well, my chil- 
dren, we have got home.” 

Mr. Willard walked up the steps to 
the piazza, opening the front door 
into a large pleasant hall, out of 
which they stepped into a well fur- 
nished parlor, larger than the one they 
had left in Roselle. Alba was soon 
in Mrs. Willard’s lap and kissed her 
repeatedly. 

“ You are my dear mamma, papa 
says you are.” 

“ Yes, I am your mamma, and you 
are my dear little girl, and I have 



lYS 

brought you a dear sister and 
a dear brother, will you love 
them ?” 

“Yes, mamma, I love them now, will 
they love me ?” 

Alpheus and Odora approached the 
child, assuring her that they loved her, 
by an affectionate kiss, each taking one 
of the little hands, and led her to the 
piazza. 

“ Isn’t she beautiful, brother ?” 

“ Yes, she is beautiful,” was his 
reply ; “ she is prettier than you ever 
were, Odora.” 

“ I am glad of that, Alpheus, I hope 
she is a great deal better.” 

“There is a fair chance for that,” 
retorted Alpheus. 

“Isn’t this a pleasant place?” in- 
quired Odora of her brother. 

“ Yes, it is very pleasant, but I have 
seen one thing already that was not 
very pleasant.” 



179 

“You are apt to see unpleasant 
things ; why is it so, brother I” 

“ 1 do not know, unless it is because 
unpleasant things are set before me.” 

“ What have you seen that is so un- 
pleasant ?” 

“I saw on the other side of the 
drawing room a large cupboard with 
glass doors, and in that cupboard a full 
set of china.” 

“ And that was an unpleasant sight, 
was it ?” 

“No, the china does not look un- 
pleasant to me at all.” 

“ Well, Alpheus, tell me what you 
saw.” 

“I saw more than a dozen of de- 
canters filled with wine and brandy ;” 
with his color deepening he continued, 
“I believe Mr. Willard makes a daily 
use of it.” 

Odora looked sad, and said, “ I have 
too much confidence in our mother to 



180 

tliink that she would marry a man 
that used alcohol as a beverage.” 

The ringing of the dinner bell broke 
up the unpleasant tMe-a-tete of the 
brother and sister. Alba was seated 
beside her new sister, apparently as 
well acquainted as if they had always 
known each other. Odora fancied her 
mother did not look quite as happy as 
she did before they stopped, and thought 
that her forebodings were in unison 
with her own. Mr. Willard looked 
with pride on what he then called his 
“ prizes” that he had brought to Cham- 
plain. The dinner passed pleasantly, 
after which he asked Alpheus to take 
a walk. 

Odora and her mother, with Alba 
between them, were seated on the sofa 
in the parlor. Odora looking wish- 
fully into her mother’s face and said, 
“Are you happy, dear mamma?” 

“ Yes, I am quite happy, are you ?” 



181 

“Yes, mamma, only I feel rather 
strange ; but, I wish George was here ; 
when do you expect him V 

“ He will be at home about Christ- 
mas, and that will be only five weeks.” 

“Mamma, is Mr. Willard a Chris- 
tian *” 

“No, Odora, he has never made a 
public profession of religion, but be- 
lieves there is divine reality in the re- 
ligion of Jesus Christ; his theology 
is correct with the doctrines of the 
Bible.” 

“ Mamma, is Mr. Willard a member 
of a temperance society ?” 

“I should think not, Odora, from 
the looks of those decanters in the 
other room, but he was recommended 
to me as strictly temperate, and I 
think, if he is not, he will be an easy 
convert to our temperance principles ; 
we must make him the special object 
of our prayers.” 



182 

The five weeks referred to were taken 
up in receiving and returning calls; 
the new-comers had little time to be 
home-sick. Though Odora sometimes 
longed for her quiet home, she did 
what she could to assist her mother in 
waiting on and entertaining company. 
Mrs. Willard plainly saw that the 
sphere in which she was now to move 
was entirely difierent from her former 
one. George came by the way of Ro- 
selle, bringing with him several letters 
for his mother and sister, and one for 
Alpheas, from Henry Radford. An 
unbroken correspondence was kept up 
between the friends of Champlain and 
Roselle for several years. During 
these years Mrs. Willard did not find 
her husband as easy a convert as 
she had expected. Mr. Willard was 
away much of his time, always having 
an apology for his absence. Mrs. Wil- 
lard and her daughters did all they 


183 

could to make his home attractive. 
Odora often found her mother looking 
very sad, and sometimes in tears ; this 
always occasioned her great pain, she 
did not venture to inquire the cause. 

Alpheus, less sensitive than his sis- 
ter, on one occasion made a direct re- 
ference to Mr. Willard’s course of con- 
duct. Odora rebuked her brother, 
and begged him not to do the like 
again ; he was very angry ; he had 
always been jealous of his elder bro- 
ther, and sought to lower him in the 
estimation of his sister, and told Odora 
that George would be as bad as Mr. 
Willard if'he stayed there. At this she 
turned deadly pale, her brain whirling 
so much that she was scarcely able to 
get to the window ; hard as was Ah 
pheus’s heart, it was a little softened 
when he saw the distress he had caused 
his sister, and he said in a kinder voice 
than usual — 



184 


“ George is going to New York soon, 
so he will not be under Mr. Willard’s 
influence any longer.” 

That night Odora was attacked with 
an epidemic that was prevailing, which 
threatened to deprive her of life, and 
her mother of the last tie that bound 
her to earth. Her disease at length 
abated, but she had been made an in- 
valid for life. She saw her hopes for 
future usefulness blighted, and when 
she was alone, where no eye could see 
her, she looked upon her blighted pros- 
pects, and sometimes in agony she 
would ask, “ Who is suflScient for these i 
things.” At first Odora could not see 
the justice of God; while time was 
making its changes in her temporal 
prospects, grace was making a greater 
in her spiritual. Odora found that 
God tempered the winds to the shorn 
of his flock, and while she looked into 
the far distant future of both worlds, 


185 


faith stretched out its trembling hand, 
resting upon those promises that will 
remain while “ the elements melt with 
fervent heat, and the heavens be rolled 
together as a scroll.” 

It was more easy for her to be re- 
conciled to her personal affliction than 
the disgrace she felt was every day in- 
creasing in consequence of Mr. Wil- 
lard’s intemperance. Those graces 
that were always bright in prosperity 
or adversity were blended in the cha- 
racter of Mrs. Willard, lighting up the 
dark path which she was now travel- 
ling. The word of God was indeed the 
shadow of a great rock in a weary 
land ; and her soul rested upon these 
words. “ In a little wrath I hid my 
face from thee a moment ; but with 
everlasting kindness will I have mercy 
on thee “ My loving kindness will I 
not utterly take from him, nor suffer 
my faithfulness to fail.” 



186 


Thus strengthened by the word of 
God she was enabled to endure the 
wreck of fortune without a murmur. 
Mr. Willard made up his mind to 
move west. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE CHRISTIAN’S FAITH. 

Shield us, 0 Lord, from dark temptation’s power. 
And guide our footsteps lest they erring stray ; 
Deliver us in the dark and evil hour. 

And turn our night, 0 Father, into day. 

Shelter us in thine all-protecting arms. 

From specious sin’s attacks— from pleasure’s gilded 
harms. 


H. n. WeM . 


Some of Mrs. Willard’s friends advised 
her not to accompany him ; to this she 
paid no attention, but made such pre- 



187 

parations as were necessary for the 
journey. They started for what was 
then thought the “ far off west.” 

Their first stop was in the city of 
D. The dark muddy streets through 
which they were compelled to pass 
were in keeping, Odora thought, with 
their future prospects. Mr. Willard 
took his family to a public house, so 
low and degraded in its character, that 
once, Mrs. Willard would not .have 
allowed a servant to have entered it. 
But now she was obliged to stay there 
with her husband and children, for at 
least a week, the roads being so bad 
that it was impossible to get teams to 
carry them into the country. During 
their supper, for which they had 
waited a full hour and a half, the 
landlady tried to entertain them by 
giving the full history of a man, who 
was to be hung that week for the 
murder of his wife. 



188 i 

“ They were both drunk,” she add- 
ed ; “ he only lived a few miles from 
here ; he has been at our house a 
great many times. Only just the day 
before he killed her, my husband sold 
him a half barrel of whiskey. I 
presume they were both drunk on that 
when the quarrel commenced. The 
hanging bee will be to-morrow; we 
can all of us go, — it’s only down here 
to the jail.” f 

A gruff voice just behind Odora’s I 
chair cried out, “ I should like 
to be your escort then.” 

Alba and Odora both looked 
around and shrieked as their eyes 
fell upon the most degraded piece 
of humanity they had ever seen, 
each taking tremblingly hold of 
their mother, and hastened to an 
adjoining room, where they hoped to 
be quiet. In this they were mistaken ; 
there lay one in a state of intoxica- 


189 


tion, while another sat reeling by his 
side, looking as though he would fall 
upon the floor the next minute. What 
was to be done ? The oaths from the 
bar-room accompanying the loud and 
clamorous talk, forbade their going 
there. Mrs. Willard seemed para- 
lysed by the scene before her. She 
was undetermined what course to 
pursue. Odora and Alba stood weep- 
ing by her side ; but Mrs. Willard 
had no tears. Becoming almost des- 
perate, she tore herself from the girls ; 
with a firm step, and a dignified air, 
she entered the bar-room. The first 
person she met was the bloated forni 
that frightened them from the kitchen ; 
he had just drawn back his arm to 
strike a man that stood near him. 
Mrs. Willard seized it, and commanded 
him to desist. Making her way to 
her husband on the other side of the 
room, she asked him to accompany 


190 

her. She took his arm and led him 
to the sitting room. As she passed 
out she heard one exclaim, “There, 
Jack Windsor, you have been floored 
once.” 

Odora heard the name, and knew 
it to be the one that used to persecute 
poor David. As soon as the door was 
closed, Mrs. Willard pointed to the 
two drunken men — ^both then being 
asleep — and asked her husband what 
was to be done ? 

“ Why, you must do the best you 
can,” he indifferently answered. 

“ Isn’t there another public house 
in the city we can go to ?” 

“There are a hundred, I presume, 
no better than this, and some a great 
deal worse.” 

“My husband, I think that impos- 
sible. I wish you to speak for a car- 
riage to take myself and daughters to 
a respectable hotel.” 


191 


“ I shall not do any such thing,” 
he sharply replied. “ It is as good for 
you and your daughters as it is for 
me.” 

The girls turned pale, and looked 
frightened. Odora approached him 
and laid her hand gently upon his 
shoulders, and looked kindly into his 
face, and said, “ Do not think that we 
want to go without you.” 

The muscles of his face gave way 
a little, and he told them that it was 
eleven o’clock, and that it would be 
impossible for them to leave that 
night. 

“ You had better call the landlady, 
and have her show you to bed.” 

He turned and went into the bar- 
room again. The landlady lighted 
them up a rickety flight of stairs, 
showing them into a small room con- 
taining two beds. They were soon 
left alone, each striving to hide her 


192 

own 'grief while they vainly tried to 
administer to the sorrows of the other. 
The question was not asked kow did 
father come to bring us here ? that 
was unnecessary. He had lost his 
pride of character, and the finer feel- 
ings of his soul had become seared. 
Hope, they had ceased to cherish ; and 
the heart grew sick at their present 
prospects, not daring for a moment 
to think of the future. Wearied with 
fatigue and excitement the travellers 
lay down on their miserable bed ; ex- 
hausted nature was soon locked in the 
arms of sleep. About two o’clock in 
the morning they were suddenly 
aroused by the cry of “ Murder ! 
Murder !” terrified, they sprang from 
their beds and threw open a window, 
where they heard one man ask an- 
other, “Who stabbed him ?”the answer 
was, “Jack Windsor.” 

“ Have they got him ?” 


193 


“ No, nor they wont, for he will be 
in Canada in fifteen minutes ?” 

“ Will Sheffield die ?” 

“No, I think it is only a flesh 
wound,” was the answer ; but he did 
die in consequence of his wound, after 
lingering ten days. 

Mrs. Willard and her daughters did 
not venture to get into bed again that 
night. 

At length the long wished for 
morning came, but it brought with it 
no relief. Everything without and 
within wore the same aspect of deso- 
lation, and the dark pall of death 
seemed to spread itself over everything 
on which the eye rested. Few were 
the words they spoke, their looks were 
bordering on despair. 

Alba looked first at her mother and 
then at her sister, then buried her face 
in her sister’s lap and wept aloud. 
The fountain of tears that refused to 


194 


come to the relief of Odora and Mrs. 
Willard, was now unlocked — their 
heads were buried in each other’s bo- 
soms, as they sat on the side of the 
bed, for there were no chairs in the 
room. Odora at length said, “ Dear 
mamma, ‘Weeping endureth but fora 
night, joy cometh in the morning;’ 
here is another precious promise from 
which we can derive consolation.” 

Odora opened her Bible, and read 
the firk verse of the thirtieth Psalm, 
“ Wait on the Lord, be of good courage 
and he shall strengthen thy heart: 
wait, I say, on the Lord.” 

Mrs. Willard was in a measure com- 
forted with Odora’s words ; she thought 
of the words of Mr Morse, on that me- 
morable occasion: “In your dear 
little Odora, you will be blessed.” 

The mother and daughters bowed 
before God, and their full hearts found 
relief not only from his word, but by 


195 

pouring out their complaints into the 
ear of one that could be touched by 
the feelings of their infirmties. 

Mr. Willard’s entrance interrupted 
their devotions ; he knew that he was 
not worthy of the welcome smile they 
gave him. Seating himself upon the 
side of the bed, he told them that he 
was about making a bargain with the 
landlord to become his partner. To 
avoid the distressed looks of his fa- 
mily, he walked to the dirt-begrimed 
window, and took from it an old hat 
that looked as if it had sufiered mar- 
tyrdom in the cause, and as he looked 
out, continued — “The few hundreds 
that we have with us will make this a 
very different place from what it is now.” 
Not venturing to look at ]\Irs.WilIard, 
“ I think, wife, you will make a very dif- 
ferent landlady from the one we have 
down stairs ; and our two girls will make 
everything look so nice and tidy.” 


196 

They were now summoned to their 
breakfast. While they were sitting at 
the table, little disposed to eat, the 
bar room door was thrown open into 
the kitchen ; the landlord unceremo- 
niously entered, saying, “ Here are all 
the Willards that I know anything 
about.” 

At this Mrs. Willard looked around, 
and to her utter astonishment, Alpheus 
stood before her. In the joy of the 
moment, her troubles were all forgot- 
ten, notwithstanding Alpheus looked 
as cross as they had ever seen him. 

Odora a'sked, “ Why are you here ? 
Where did you come from ? ” 

“ I think, sis, you had better wait 
and let me ask how you came here,” 
setting his teeth as he glanced around 
the room. “ You, all of you, look as 
if you had been sick a month, and it 
is only fourteen days since you left 
Champlain.” 



IGY 

“ My son, how many days since you 
left there ?” 

“ I stayed long enough to receive se- 
veral letters from Roselle and one from 
George.” 

“ Where is George ?” inquired Odora. 

“ He wrote to me while he was visit- 
ing the Rev. Mr. Bradley, in the city of 

B , George thinks of moving to the 

West as soon as he can arrange his 
business.” 

“ W'hat business has he to arrange ?” 
inquired Mrs. Willard. 

“ Well, mother, I don’t know what 
it is ; perhaps it is delivering tempe- 
rance lectures, for he has informed me 
that he has been induced to take the 
pledge.” 

“ What news from Roselle 1” in- 
quired Mrs., Willard. 

“ Only Theodore Williams has mar- 
ried Josephine, and they are going to 
visit Walter. Mr.- Henry Radford is 

17 * 


198 

delivering temperance lectures ; I be- 
lieve that is all the news ; have you 
any more questions to ask ?” 

“One question, my son, has been 
asked, and you have not answered it. 
What brought you here 

Alpheus looked gravely at his mo- 
ther, and saw that she was waiting for 
a reply. “It was for you, my dear 
mother, and my sisters, that I came.” 

Alba exclaimed, “ How we will all 
love you, if you will take us back to our 
pleasant home.” 

“ I wish. Alba, you had never left 
it. I have one question now to ask 
you. Mother, will you return to New 
England with me ? I think you have 
enough of Western life; so I think 
you may as well make up your mind 
to return first as last.” 

“ The evils which follow in the train 
of Intemperance have blighted my 
hopes, in the Eastern states, and 


199 

threatened to overthrow me. I can- 
not consent to return. When I look 
upon the broad territory which is 
spread out before us, and see the 
monster Alcohol lifting up its crested 
head, I am led to inquire, ‘ Lord, what 
will thou have me to do V And since 
man has turned away from his God, 
as a source of enjoyment, and from 
his service as a means of obtaining 
it, he has been prone to seek it in 
some improper bodily or mental gra- 
tification. If I can be useful in any 
degree, in the war which has been de- 
clared against the kingdom of Alcohol, 
I shall have obtained my object.” 

“ I think, mother, your chance for 
usefulness in this place is very small.” 

“ Alpheus, I shall not despise the 
day of small things ; the tali oak 
springs from the little acorn.” 

“ This is true, mother, but you will 
find it up-hill business. Character and 


200 


money, two essential properties, you 
will find necessary to make out your 
composition for future usefulness. It 
will be many years before tbis terri- 
tory will be adopted into the Union 
as a State ; but in time she will no 
doubt become one of the first. Men 
who emigrate to this country, have 
something else to do besides laying 
plans to organize societies ; and then 
in every reform there must be leading 
spirits, and I am led to ask who will 
lead the van in the western wilds, and 
hundreds, my dear mother, will find a 
drunkard’s grave before you or my 
sister can make one successful efibrt 
in the needed reform. It is impossi- 
ble for you to open wide enough the 
gates of moral suasion to let one of 
the miserable bloats that lie in yonder 
bar-room pass through. I do not 
doubt that you and Odora are both 
capable of writing upon this subject, 


201 

but who are to be your publishers ? 
There is not a printing office west of 
this city, so what will you do ?” 

“ Well, my son, I will put my trust 
in Him who has promised to hear his 
people in the day when they call on 
his name. The Lord is my Rock and 
my Pasture, and my Deliverer ; the 
God of my Salvation, in Him will I 
trust. He is my Shield and the horn 
of my salvation, my high tower and 
my refuge and Saviour. Thou savest 
me from violence. The Lord shall be 
my buckler, in Him will I put my 
trust. 

“Alpheus, I wish you would pro- 
cure teams to take us into the country 
as soon as possible.” 

Early in the afternoon of the same 
day they left the city of D. ; the roads 
were so bad that they made but little 
progress ; they were four days going 
fifty miles. The bad roads over which 



202 

they were obliged to pass, and the 
heavy rains in which they were fre- 
quently drenched, were pleasant com- 
pared with the miserable lodgings 
they had left. 

The confidence of Mrs. Willard and 
Odora was strengthened when they 
thought of their providential deliver- 
ance from infamy and shame. After a 
long, thoughtful silence, Odora asked 
her mother “ if she did not think they 
had been very wicked in distrusting the 
goodness of God ?” 

“I thought, my child, I had for 
many years believed the hairs of my 
head were numbered, and not even a 
sparrow should fall to the ground with- 
out my Heavenly Father’s notice. I 
shall, for the future, when I think I be- 
lieve confidently, be led to cry out, 
‘ Lord, help thou my unbelief.’ ” 

Mr. Willard had been very angry 
with Alpheus the morning previous. 


203 


and refused to ride with him, therefore 
the mother and daughters rode by 
! themselves. Alpheus did all in his 
! power to make the journey easy and 
I pleasant. lie was more kind and af- 
fectionate than they had ever seen 
him. He was now all that they could 
wish or desire. Alba playfully told him 
one day, that the Lord sent him to 
take care of them, just as he sent the 
ravens to feed Elijah. 

“ You naughty sis, you think me 
the raven and you the chosen of the 
Lord, do you not ?” 

“No, I don’t think just so ; I think 
you were the chosen of the Lord — 
chosen just to take care of us.” 

“ I see you want to get away with- 
I out having a quarrel with me, but you 
don’t escape, for you have called me a 
raven.” 

“ No, Alpheus, I only said you were 
like one.” 


204 

“ Well, I don’t feel much flattered 
at that, for the Bible says, ‘ the ravens 
shall pluck out their eyes and the 
young eagles shall eat them and I 
am sure that I don’t feel like pluck- 
ing out eyes, but more like opening 
them.” 

“ What would you open them to 
see, Alpheus ?” inquired Odora. 

“ I would fain open the eyes of in- 
telligent men and women to see, where 
Alcohol is used as a beverage, that 
death is in the pot.” 

The girls could not help but laugh 
when they looked up and saw what a 
queer expression he had given to his 
face. 

“ Well, my dear sisters, there is one 
thing that I hope your bright eyes will 
not be open to see.” 

“ What is that ?” inquired Alba. 

“ I hope you will not live to see the 
birds soar away to their cosy nests, 


205 


shaded and guarded by the green 
hangings of nature’s own providing, 
nor the little foxes scampering away 
to their little burrows to shelter them- 
selves from the approaching storm 
in low and tremulous tones he added, 
“ and you left with not the where to 
lay your head.” 

Ilis last words had filled the eyes 
of both the girls with tears. At the 
same time striving in vain to hide his 
own emotions, after a moment’s 
pause he continued : “ This will be 
the case if you follow that ignis fatuus 
that is ahead,” pointing to Mr. Wil- 
lard, who was before them in a wagon. 

“We will not follow him,” said 
Odora. “ We will follow the Eastern 
star that guided the wise men of Israel 
to the Babe in Bethlemem, and to 
them in the stable, who ofiered up 
their gifts of frankincense and myrrh. 
So will our dear mother, our sister, 
18 


206 

and myself, oiFer the few precious jew- 
els we gathered in the Eastern states 
here in the Western wilds, asking God 
to make diamonds of them.” 

Alpheus remained several days with 
the family after their arrival in what 
was then called Amherst, doing what 
he could to make them comfortable in 
their new log-house. 

By the time Alpheus got ready to 
leave, Mr. Willard had made up his 
mind that Alph. was not so bad a 
fellow after all. As to himself he had 
no “ malice to heart,” although he had 
talked very unkind to him. 

Alpheus took his leave, and they 
were left to contend alone with the 
inconveniences of a new country, and 
they contended valiantly, in doors and 
out, showing that the hand of industry 
had been at work; their household 
inconveniences were nothing to be 
compared with being deprived of books 


207 


and papers. Mrs. Willard managed 
to remove the latter obstacles by cor- 
responding with Eastern editors and 
becoming their weekly contributor. 
Odora soon joined her mother in this. 
They wrote under assumed names and 
upon subjects nearest their hearts; 
they corresponded with temperance 
societies, East, begging them to send 
their champions into the western val- 
ley where the fields were already 
white for the harvest and laborers 
were few ; and filled their mouths 
with arguments. Their faith rested 
on the immutable Word, and they 
leaned upon the strong arm that was 
able to deliver. The light that had 
irradiated the Eastern hemisphere 
promised to shed its irradiating beams, 
and to roll back the moral cloud of 
darkness that brooded over the West- 
ern world. It was a long time before 
much good was evidently done. De- 


208 

spising not the day of small things 
they pressed on to the mark of the 
prize of the high calling. Mrs. Wil- 
lard and Odora were unobtrusive in 
their characters, so they toiled on, not 
letting the left hand know what the 
right hand did. 

Not known but as indigent farmers, 
their circumstances were so straitened 
that they were obliged to labor with 
their hands to obtain a livelihood. 
Mr. Willard in the mean time lost his 
health, and his intellect became so 
much impaired that he was a source 
of anxiety, as well as an additional 
expense, but this did not discourage 
them ; though they were obliged to 
drop some of their correspondents, 
they had seen the great work in which 
they were engaged prosper in their 
hands, and these were all the laurels 
they desired. They rejoiced even when 
they saw at a distance the trembling 


209 

of the leaves in the top of the mul- 
berry trees, and then how their hearts 
rejoiced when the soft seolian sounds 
of the temperance song floated amid 
its gladdened branches, they saw the 
sun rise in the distant East, — though 
I the day might be long and dark, 
I they knew it must go down in the 
Western horizon ; their hearts some- 
times for a moment grew sick at hope 
so long deferred ; but this did not 
deter them from the great work in 
j which they were engaged. The hearts 
of those in the same great work were 
often cheered by them as they jour- 
neyed Westward. 

Odora’s bedroom looked indeed like 
a temperance studio; her table was 
covered with books and papers. Mrs. 
Willard and Alba were often there 
reading and writing and devising plans 
how they could most advantageously 
advance the cause in which they were 


210 


engaged. In consequence of constant 
mental exertions, Odora lost her health, 
and resolved to visit her native State. 
It took her but a little while to get 
ready for her journey. They were 
comfortably seated in a railroad car, 
and in two hours and a half they 
accomplished a journey which twelve 
years before they had been four days 
in effecting. 

Their journey was a pleasant one, 
and in five days they were in Cham- 
plain. Alba and Odora did not stop 
to weep over the past; they had a 
two-fold object in visiting their native 
State — one for the benefit of health, 
the other to visit temperance societies 
and to obtain such statistics as would 
be of service to them after their return. 

Odora spent several days in Roselle, 
where she was most cordially wel- 
comed by all that knew her, and 
among her large circle of acquaint^JUces 

: 


211 

none gave her a more hearty welcome 
than Mr. and Mrs. Bertram, who 
were still living, though enfeebled by 
age and bowed by the heavy hand of 
sorrow that had long rested upon 
them. In Roselle Odora heard the 
unhappy fate of poor Walter. 

Mrs. Williams went South soon 
after her marriage. She found Wal- 
ter living far beyond his means. She 
remonstrated, begging him to lessen 
his expenses, the only means that 
would save him from becoming a 
bankrupt. This he could not be in- 
duced to do. He was then considered 
a wealthy New England gentleman, 
and was engaged to be married to a 
respectable young lady possessing quite 
a fortune. The story had been circu- 
lated, several times, that Mr. Bertram 
was intemperate ; but this had been 
attributed to envious persons who 
would fain rival him in his love. The 


212 

day for the marriage was fixed upon, 
and a magnificent outfit was in wait- 
ing. Among the guests that were 
invited Avere two gentlemen from the 
West by the name of McMartin, Avith 
Avhom Walter had become acquainted. 
The oldest was in some degree a kin- 
dred spirit of Mr. Bertram. He had 
become an invalid in consequence of 
intemperance, llis brother, several 
years younger than himself, vvas like a 
guardian angel, shielding him always 
from public disgrace, and as much as 
possible from private. He had seen 
the growing intimacy between Ber- 
tram and his brother, and determined, 
as soon as the wedding festivities were 
over, to return to Amherst. Two days 
before the Avedding was to take place, 
strangers were seen about the store, 
and then all was still, a Avrit of injunc- 
tion was served, and the story went 
as fast as busy tongues could carry it^ 


213 

that Mr. Bertram was a bankrupt, and 
his intended must know the fact. His 
pride was wounded, and he became 
desperate. He managed to get the 
I elder McMartin /rom under the eye of 
his brother, and drove out of town to 
a neighboring village, where they spent 
the night in drinking and carousing. 
There Lewis McMartin found them so 
inebriated that they were unable to 
take care of themselves. In this state, 
he had his brother borne to the near- 
est steamboat landing, and in a few 
hours took passage for their home. 

But where was poor Bertram ? 
Alone in his room, without a friend to 
adnse or direct him. He awoke, but 
despair rested upon his heart. He 
attempted to drown his grief, but this 
was impossible. Several weeks were 
spent in a state of fearful determina- 
tion. On examining his purse he 
found that he had but a few dollars 


214 

left. With this he paid his passage 
to Charleston, where he hoped to find 
some friends to aid him in this hour 
of trial. On his arrival he found 
himself a stranger and penniless, so he 
walked up and down the streets, look- 
ing occasionally into the brilliant sa- 
loons that once had attraction for him. 
At length, wearied and sad, he leaned 
his head against a lamp post and 
wept. He stood, he knew not how 
long. A hand was laid upon his 
shoulders, and he was addressed by a 
tall, dark complexioned, black-eyed 
man. He asked him in a foreign ac- 
cent, “ What he was snivelling there 
for?” “ Because, sir, I have nowhere 
else to snivel, as you please to call it.” 
“ Then if you haven’t you had better 
come with me ; I will give you better 
lodgings.” Reaching his arm, which 
Walter took immediately, they wound 
their way, arm in arm, through several 


215 

sU’eets, till they came to a respectable 
looking building inclosed by a high 
iron fence. They passed around to 
the back part of the building, and en- 
tered a side door into a long dark 
hall, out of which several doors opened. 
A shudder of fear came over Walter 
as he followed his guide, and as the 
hand of the stranger opened one of 
the lower doors, dark forebodings 
again settled upon the heart that had 
once been alive to hope and happiness. 
They entered a small room evidently 
fitted for the accommodation of only 
one person 

The black-eyed stranger knew what 
was necessary to rally the spirits of 
his new guest. 

“ Make yourself at home, sir ; you 
are with your friends. You will stay 
here to-night; I shall be engaged — 
so you will have to entertain yourself 
until morning, unless feome of my boys 


216 

will drop in and ’spend an hour with 
you this evening. I have a little of 
the good stuff here. Will you take a 
glass ?” Opening a cupboard that was 
handy by, he gave him a decanter and 
told him to help himself. “ When you 
wish your supper you can ring for it, 
there will be servants to wait upon 
you.” Bowing low he bade him 
good night,” and he left the room. 

Walter, being alone, asked himself 
repeatedly, “ What does this mean ? I 
have no acquaintance with this gentle- 
man. Perhaps it is a French gentle- 
man with whom my father has had 
an acquaintance, and I don’t see how 
this can be either.’’ 

After taking a second glass of Jam- 
aica, he concluded that it was a good 
place, and there was no use of puzzling 
his brain to find out who or what his 
host was. He at length rang the bell 
for supper. A comfortable meal was 



217 


soon in readiness for him, and he was 
in a state to enjoy it, for he had not 
taken any nourishment during the day. 
He did not want any one to come to 
entertain him. In a state of bewilder- 
ed astonishment he threw himself on 
his bed, where he slept soundly till 
morning. 

His host called on him and gave 
his name as Brown, that he was 
captain of a vessel that then lay 
in port bound for the East Indies. “ If 
you would like a berth on board I 
can accommodate you, but I should 
not like to make such a looking fellow 
as you a common sailor. If your 
name is Walter Bertram, I shall take 
the liberty to enroll you as Washing- 
ton Axcelle.” 

“It is immaterial to me. Captain 
Brown, by what name I am called.” 

“Then just keep your real name to 
yourself, sir, and I will make a man of 



218 

you yet, and you will have no occasion 
to wash the lamp post with your tears 
again. We are to have a sailor’s 
levee to-night, and I wish you to be 
in attendance, Mr. Axcelle.” 

Walter drew a long breath, knowing 
that he had no means to make prepara- 
tions to appear in public. As Captain 
Brown left the room he threw a purse 
of gold upon the table, saying, “ Cheer 
up, my boy, there are better days 
coming.” 

Walter had never thought of being 
a sailor, but this new idea pleased 
him; he spent the day in making 
preparations for the evening. He was 
introduced to several of Captain 
Brown’s men, and visited the vessel 
in which he hoped to sail in a few 
days, and be enabled to forget the 
past. Evening at length came; in 
company with several of his new 
comrades, he went to the place of 


219 


entertainment. Walter was at first 
bewildered by the brilliant appearance 
of everything. The h earty welcome he 
received from those present soon made 
him forget everything but the good 
cheer that was spread out before &m ; 
the party was not as large as he had 
expected, but more showy and brilliant, 
the tables were richly spread, around 
which old and young were sitting or 
standing. Music and dancing were 
soon introduced, in which all partici- 
pated. 

There were a few ladies present, as 
Walter thought them to be, richly 
dressed, but not in as good taste, he 
thought, as he had seen before. At 
i first there was a reservedness that 
pleased him. But this was soon 
thrown aside, and a familiarity as- 
sumed that disgusted him. He was 
I quick to see that he was not among 
1 the most chaste. As he became in- 


220 

flated with the charged wines, his j 
disgust lessened ; though unaccustom- 1 
ed to scenes »of licentiousness, it did | 
not take long for him to become initi- ' 
ated in what a few hours before his i 
nature revolted. He never possess- ; 
ed a reflecting mind, and we could 
not expect that he would have taken 
up a serious train of thought. His 
eyes now beheld strange womenj and i 
his heart uttered perverse things. I 


CHAPTER X. 

THE DECEIVER AND THE DECEIVED. 

** Farewell ! that seal is set, 

In life unbroken ; 

Thou hast with the heartless stranger met 
With the quivering lip, the eyelid wet.” 

S .W. SM>hina. 

Walter had again looked upon the 


221 . 

wine when it was red, and was soon 
to receive its serpent-like sting; but 
the cloud over his mental vision was 
hourly becoming more dense, inso- 
much that it was impossible for him 
to see the monster encircling him in 
its ' crested folds. He saw not the 
forked tongue as it neared his vitals, 
and felt not the poison fangs, as it 
buried itself in the fountain of his 
moral existence, diffusing its poison in 
the deep recesses of his soul. The 
giddy dance went on, until the poi- 
soned atmosphere dried up the last 
spring of self-respect. The debauch 
continued until late at night. At 
length Captain Brown drew near, and 
with a Satanic smile, said, “ Wake up, 
Axcelle ; we are to take up a collec- 
tion to settle this bill ; set your name 
to this paper ; never mind the sum ; 
I’ll pay that” 

Walter took up the pen that was 

19 » 


222 


handed, and wrote, “Washington 
Axcelle.” The Captain was much 
pleased, and expressed it by slapping 
him on the shoulders and calling him 
a “ good fellow.” 

“ This deception,” thought he, “ has 
worked like a charm. I have another 
name enrolled on the pirate’s list.” 

Walter was carried to his room in 
a state of intoxication. Several weeks 
were spent in making preparations for 
the voyage ; every night bringing its 
debauch, in which Walter was a hear- 
ty participator. At length the day 
arrived for them to set sail, and the 
last cry, “ All on board,” was given, 
and Walter was not slow to obey it. 
They weighed anchor, and were soon 
out of sight. Early next morning all 
hands were summoned on deck, where 
the laws and by-laws were read, during 
which the scales fell from Walter’s 
eyes ; he found, to his utter horror and 


223 


astonishment, that he was on board of 
a pirate ship. Oaths of the most 
startling character were being admi- | 
nistered. j 

“ What was to be done ?” he j 
asked himself again and again. Cap- j 
tain Brown, in a sterner voice than he j 
had ever heard him speak before, com- 
manded him to step forward, but he 
moved not ; his feet seemed riveted to 
the deck. 

“Don’t stand there, you chicken 
heart ; step forward — show yourself a 
man ; come, hurry along, — I have 
supported you a month, giving you all 
the good cheer you wanted, and here 
is a chance to cancel the bill I have 
against you.” 

Walter moved not — the Captain or- 
dered him not to delay — at length he 
moved mechanically forward and took 
the oath ; in a few moments that part of 
the business was completed. The dark 


224 


forebodings of Walter’s mind, together 
with the dissipation in which he had 
indulged during the last month, pros- 
trasted him ; he was violently attacked 
with a nervous fever, and tor several 
weeks was unable to leave his state- 
room. During this time they had 
given chase to several vessels, but had 
been unsuccessful. One bright beau- 
tiful morning he crept on deck and sat 
down, endeavoring to find something 
on which to rest a hope of escape. 
Everything on which his imagination 
could fix was shrouded in blackness, in 
darkness and despair, at which he 
grew faint and sick. He thought at 
first that he would throw himself over- 
board ; but he was afraid to destroy 
that which he had sworn to rob others 
of. The prayers and tears of his mo- 
ther and sisters came up before him 
like so many spectres to drive him to 
despair ; he thought of his own happy 


225 


home, together with the smiles and 
caresses which had in vain been lav- 
ished upon him; he thought of his 
mother’s last gift, — the Bible — and at 
that moment he would have given 
worlds to have redeemed it. But it 
was gone, — he had pawned it for a 
single glass of that which had proved 
his ruin. Wearied with thinking, he 
lay down upon deck and slept until he 
was aroused by the loud cry of “ ship 
ahoy.” The next sound that fell upon 
his ear, “ All hands on deck,” — every 
man was armed. Under full sail they 
gave the distant vessel chase, every 
moment gaining ground upon her. 
Orders were given to board her at 
once. The stranger ship sailed along- 
side without appearing to notice them. 
Orders were given to fire upon her, 
and no sooner was it obeyed, than the 
merchant ship charged back with re- 
doubled fury. Captain Brown found 


226 


that he was like to have his match ; 
the grappling irons were soon made 
fast. The next moment Captain 
Brown was run through with the bayo- 
net of an American seaman, and he 
fell dead upon the deck. The crew 
on board the Blackbird were panic- 
struck, and soon cried for quarter, 
which was conditionally granted. Wal- 
ter, with the rest of the wounded per- 
sons, was carried on board the “ Elk- 
hart,” where his wounds were found to 
be mortal. The dying man was con- 
scious that a kinder hand than he was 
worthy of was wiping the sweat from 
his brow. He opened his eyes and 
saw Lewis McMartin standing by his 
side. — To him, with his dying breath, 
he told his story. Mr. McMartin tried 
to point him to the Lamb of God, that 
taketh away the sins of the world, but 
despair filled the soul of the wretched 
man ; the vital spark flickered and then 


I 


227 


went out. His body was consigned 
to a watery grave to siuraber among 
the coral caves until the last trumpet 
shall sound which will awake the dead 
to a reunion of the soul and the body. 

Mr. McMartin had found that it was 
impossible in America to keep his 
brother from scenes of dissipation. 
He, soon after leaving the South, pro- 
posed to his brother a sea voyage, 
faintly hoping in some degree to re- 
store him to health, knowing that on 
board ship he would have him more 
completely under his control. He la- 
bored hard to direct his mind, and by 
the kindest and most conclusive argu- 
ments to convince him of the great 
risk he was running in trifling with 
his life and health. Mr. McMartin 
did not seem to live for himself, but 
for his brother’s spiritual and temporal 
happiness, for which he was constant- 
ly laboring. Sometimes his. hope 




I 


228 

^ would become brightened, and he 
would for a moment indulge the 
thought that Augustus would at length 
become a temperate man. He related 
to his brother the unhappy fate of 
poor Bertram, hoping that it would 
be a warning to him. Nothing of in- 
terest transpired during the passage, 
save their encounter with the Black- 
bird. ’J'he brothers spent a few weeks 
in Liverpool, and then visited the great 
Metropolis, where every place of in- 
terest was visited by them. Mr. Mc- 
Martin was always careful to avoid 
those places where his brother would 
be tempted more than he would be 
able to bear. Wines were not allowed 
on his table ; if they were invited to 
dine with a friend, he only consented 
on condition that this evil should not 
be among the varieties. After a pleas- 
ant stay of several weeks in London, 
they took passage for France, both 



229 


equally desirous of visiting Parisian 
antiquities. Their voyage across the 
channel was a pleasant one. On their 
arrival in France, they lost no time in 
procuring a suitable guide, with a full 
determination to visit every place of 
interest that was accessible. Lewis 
soon found that it would be necessary 
to keep a closer watch over his broth- 
er than when he was in England, for 
there he found the enemy he so much 
dreaded spreading snares for their feet, 
and by their polite courtesy endeavor- 
ing to entrap them. At first the el- 
der Mr. McMartin was interested, as 
they visited from place to place the 
ancient lore of France. One bright 
beautiful morning they were conduct- 
ed by their guide to the Louvre. As 
they traversed this almost never end- 
ing building, gazing upon the innu- 
merable pictures, they were lost in ad- 
miration. Mr. McMartin said in a let- 
20 



230 


ter to his friends, that the long gal- 
lery was one thousand three hundred 
and twenty-two feet in length, and 
forty-two in breadth, and the wall cov- 
ered with pictures, which were divided 
into four classes : French, Italian, 
Flemish, and German, containing one 
thousand four hundred and eight pic- 
tures, and none but the works of de- 
ceased masters could be admitted here. 
Mr. McMartin was told that, to go 
over the whole building would make 
a full mile. 

• Mrs. Nicolson, in her “ Gaulic 
Gleanings,” — a work which every Pa- 
risian visitor should avail themselves 
of— says, “ She has twice been over 
the buildings, and she would pre- 
fer walking five miles on a plain road 
to a walk through the Louvre, if her 
eye must take in the pictures as she 
proceeds.” As Mr. McMartin gazed 
upon the relics of past ages, his heart 



r 


231 


was deeply affected, as he thought of 
the thousands, yes, millions, who had 
been endowed by nature with intel- 
lect and taste, sufficient to erect for 
them monuments of imperishable hon- 
ors, — but had, in consequence of al- 
coholic liquors, made shipwreck of 
Nature’s richest gift ; and was more 
fully determined than ever, by the 
help of God, to assist his brother 
whom he so much loved, to add to 
his “ knowledge, temperance ; and to 
temperance, patience; and to patience, 
godliness ; and to godliness, brotherly 
kindness ; and to brotherly kindness, 
charity.” 

The two gentlemen now left the 
Louvre, and repaired to the Jardin 
des Plantes. They found its begin- 
ning was in 1635 by Louis XIII. They 
visited its botanical garden and gallery 
of anatomy, menagerie, a libraiy and 
amphitheatre, where public lectures are 



232 

given. They had no time to exam- 
ine these ; but strolled on among the 
tall trees, then entered some of the 
glass houses, saw the cedar of Le- 
banon planted in 1734, measuring 
ten and a half English feet in circum- 
ference, six feet from the ground. 
Mr. McMartin said, as he looked upon 
this native of Palestine, that he was 
led to think of these beautiful lines — 

“ The cedars wave on Lebanon ; 

But Judah’s statelier maids are gone; 

So now we wander witheringly. 

In other lands to die ; 

And where our fathers’ ashes be. 

Our own shall never lie.” 

Though they had been in Paris but 
two days, it was evident that his 
brother was becoming weary of sight- 
seeing. He dreaded to see the list- 
less indifference with which he looked 
upon what so deeply interested him- 
self, and hastened as fast as possible 


233 

from one place of interest to another, 
drinking in at a glance all that his haste 
made it possible. Unexpectedly he 
came up in front of the obelisk of 
Luxor. For a moment the mind of 
Lewis McMartin was lost in a laby- 
rinth of thought. He then advanced 
to examine more minutely its antique 
history; its hieroglyphics were not 
to be deciphered by him, but he 
learned by its superscriptions that it 
was a native of Egypt, and had been 
transported by the French Govern- 
ment in 1836, and placed upon this 
spot, where its proud head was lifted 
toward high Heaven. This obelisk is 
seventy-two feet in height, seven feet 
six inches broad at the base, and five 
feet four inches at the top, weighing 
five hundred thousand pounds. Lewis 
McMartin and his brother were invit- 
ed by an American, to a large party, 
where he knew champagne would be 



234 


in abundance. He was glad be could 
avoid the politeness of his country- 
man, for every hour of his time was 
engaged, as he had resolved to embark 
for the United States by the next 
steamer. He lost no time forwarding 
his excuses, and early the next day 
they were passing the Quai de Hor- 
logue, their attention w’as attracted by 
a pile of buildings, which from out- 
ward appearances was evidently in- 
tended for public utility ; on entering 
they found that in the fourteenth cen- 
tury, it was used as a palace. It still 
stands as a bold monument of strength, 
being two hundred and sixteen feet 
in length, by eighty-four in breadth. 
It contains many rooms, all marked 
in history by interesting and many 
painful events ; in one room stands 
the statue of Saint Louis against the 
wall, guarding a will of Louis Four- 
teenth, which is closed in a recess, and 


235 


bricked up that it may never be exe- 
cuted. Here are the galleries contain- 
ing the statues of the Chancellors and 
portraits of the Lawyers. The court 
of Assizes is ornamented with rich 
paintings upon the ceilings. 

Mr. McMartin strove in vain to 
arouse his brother and fix his restless 
mind upon objects which were worthy 
of his notice. Finding this impossible, 
they bade “farewell” to Paris, and 
were soon on their way to the United 
States. Lewis had only seen enough 
of Paris to make him want to see 
more; but as he was not living for 
himself, he cheerfully made such sa- 
crifices as he thought would be for his 
brother’s interest. On their arrival in 
New York it was found necessary 
that Lewis McMartin should leave 
immediately for the country to transact 
business for his brother. The first 
time for many months he left his 


236 


brother to himself. Tliough he was 
in all his thoughts, he felt in some 
degree relieved from the harassing 
capiices of one who was laboring 
under mental as well as bodily- 
diseases. During his journey he met 
with Odora Morse, from whom he 
gained some interesting facts relative 
to the progress of temperance, and of 
the great effort some of the States 
were making to obtain an Anti-liquor 
Law. 

At the large collections of statistics 
which this lady was in possession of, 
he was indeed somewhat astonished, 
for he had only heard of her as a 
private person, and thought her cir- 
cumstances must confine her to a limit- 
ed sphei-e of action. He listened with 
interest while she told him of the un- 
happy fate of Henry Radford, who 
had labored valiantly in the tempe- 
rance cause. He learned that Mr. 


I 


237 

Radford had been giving a course of 
lectures in one of the principal 
towns of his native State, and effi- 
ciently assisted in framing a petition 
to send to the Legislature, praying 
them to abolish the use of liquors as 
a beverage, which has since been 
granted, and that State is now enjoy- 
ing the blessings of the Anti-Liquor 
Law, for which we are now so ardently 
contending. 

Mr. Radford being ill one evening, 
called at a Druggist’s, and requested 
the clerk to administer to him a small 
portion of Morphine. Mr. Radford 
swallowed the drug, and instantly dis- 
covered that he had taken a portion 
of strychnine. He only had time to 
inform the clerk of the mistake he had 
made, and in a few moments was a 
corpse. It was found that the clerk 
was in a state of intoxication, when 
the drug was administered. Mr. 


238 


McMartin was pained that such an 
accident should befall one who had 
been, and was qualified to be emi- 
nently useful. As he was about 
finishing up his business, he received 
a letter informing him that his brother 
was very ilj, and needed his presence. 
He returned immediately to New 
York, where he found him in a 
state of insensibility, and was told by 
his friends, that some of the former 
associates of his brother, hearing of 
his arrival, called on him, and he was 
persuaded by them to again indulge 
in his former habits of intemperance. 
Mr. McMartin, in a few days, was 
called to close the eyes of one, over 
whom he had carefully watched, and 
guarded as tenderly as a mother 
guards a helpless infant. He had the 
body conveyed to the West for inter- 
ment; where Mr. McMartin is now 
laboring for the law for which the 


V 


239 

masses have petitioned our legislature, 
and for that which should, during this 
campaign, call into action every philan- 
thropist. Odora still lives unobtru- 
sively to cheer her fellow laborers in 
this gi'eat cause. The few last years 
of Odora’s life have been an unbroken 
scene of trial. Death has deprived 
her of her mother, who had been for 
years her fellow laborer, to whom she 
was bound by the most tender ties of 
sympathy and love. Her dear Alba 
has found a home far from her, yet 
she sometimes assures her that she 
still loves her by tokens like the fol- 
lowing. 


TO ODORA: 

I miss thee, sister, eve and morn, 

And often sigh to see thy face ; 

To hear thy greeting pure and warm, 
To feel again thy fond embrace. 


I miss thee, sister, when my heart 
Is swept by sadness’ heavy wings. 


240 


And to my eyes the tear drops start 
As memory back thy image brings. 

I miss thee, sister, oft when cares 
Their shadows o’er my spirit flings ; 

For thou my grief wast wont to share. 

And bear me on tby firmer wings. 

And oh ! when pain has laid me low. 

Sister, I miss thy soothing tone. 

And gentle hand to press my brow— 

A lonely stranger here I roam. 

When friendship crowns the passing hour, 
Made glad by those I’ve met with thee, 

E’en friendship loses half its power. 

Dear sister, then I think of thee. 

Thy love my early cares beguiled, 

And dearest then thou wert to me ; 

Now others round my heart have twined, 

Yet, sister, there is room for thee.” 

Alb<u 

In tracing the most favorable lines 
of the few families and individuals 
with whom I have been confidentially 
acquainted, I have had no occasion to 
exaggerate, but have been obliged to 
lay aside some of the darkest shades 


241 


in their history in consequence of the 
unbroken friendship, which has long, 
and still exists between us. I have 
not found it necessary to call to my 
aid the pen of fiction to delineate the 
evils which follow in the train of in- 
temperance. Though the reader of 
these pages may be one of limited 
observation, he will be obliged to ac- 
knowledge that the half cannot be 
told. Writers upon this subject are 
often charged with choosing language 
too strong, and figures and metaphors 
too terrific for the refined and sensitive 
tastes of the present age ; but we who 
have waged war with the power of 
darkness, dare not cry “ peace” until 
the enemy that has long since been 
routed and driven into his own den, 
shall there be bound with legal chains, 
condemned to suffer the full penalty of 
our laws, and then wait for the more 
dreadful tribunal when they shall cry 
21 


242 

for the rocks and mountains to fall on 
them and hide them from the face of 
him who has said, “ I will laug’h at 
their calamity and mock when their 
fear cometh.” “ When this fear cometh 
as desolation, and their destruction 
cometh as a whirlwind, when distress 
and anguish come upon them, then 
shall they call upon me, but I will not 
answer. They shall seek me early, 
but they shall not find me ; for they 
hated knowledge, and did not choose 
the fear of the Lord.” 

The floodgates of opposition have 
long since been opened upon us ; but 
the everlasting arms have been under- 
neath us. We have no flag of truce 
to present to our enemies ; for a com- 
plete victory must be obtained. “ Vic- 
tory or death” should be the watch- 
word of the masses, into whose hands 
the power is now given to obtain the 
prize which we have petitioned our 


243 


Legislature to grant us. Shall I say 
that they possessed not moral courage 
sufficient to contend with our mighty 
foe, and say thus far shalt thou go, 
and no farther ? They have left the 
great question for us to answer. 
Lovers and friends of human happi- 
ness, delay not to set down the right 
foot of that power with which you 
are now invested, with your hands 
upon the unfailing Truth, of Him who 
has provided a ransom, and swear by 
your united ejfforts that you will break 
the strong arms of Alcohol — wait not 
till the bottles containing the tears of 
murdered wives and orphaned children 
are poured out upon us as so many 
vials of wrath, engulphing us in its 
saliniferous flood. We will not loan 
money, nor give bonds to the legal mur- 
derer, when he shall purchase Sahara’s 
boundless desert for a burying place, 
for the murderer and the murdered, j 


I 244 

I and then sigh because there is not 
I room enough. If we slay, it is to 
I make alive — alive to happiness in this 
I world ; and alive to imperishable 
I honors beyond the grave. Were there 
I ever responsibilities of greater magni- 
I tude imposed upon a people than are 
I now resting upon us as a State ? We, 
I from the most secret recesses of the 
soul, cry out, “ Who is sufficient for 
these things*?” But we are answered, 
“ Lo ! I am with thee to the end of the 
world.” 

Speak, Almighty God, and “ it shall 
bo done” — “command, and it shall 
stand fast.” Let the voice of millions 
cry out, “ Lift up your heads, ye gates, 
and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting 
doors and let the full tide of glory 
that is in store for us to choose be 
poured in upon us. We will not dash 
from our lips the full cup that is 
poured out for us, nor turn away from 


245 


the inexhaustible fountain and say the 
key has not been given us to unlock 
it. We have heard the agonizing 
cry of widows and orphans when we 
had not power to deliver. The moral 
night has been a long and dark one ; 
and we have waited patiently for the 
dawning of this day — the glorious 
wings of the morning have been un- 
pinioned, and with its purple plumes it 
has fanned into life some of our 
eastern States ; and from its ever ex- 
panding wings the pearls of civil and 
religious love have filled the hearts of 
thousands with the rich boon of hope 
and happiness. Shall we command 
the sun to stand still and wrap around 
him the mantle of our shame, while 
we pinion the wings of the morning, 
and chain the chariot wheels of sal- 
vation, and cover the face of the full 
blushing moon in a drapery of death ? 
No ! we will not ! but we will say to 


246 

tlie Queen of the night, shed around 
us thy softest beams while we admire 
the full girdle of pearls which encircles 
thee ; and we will say to the God of 
the day — roll on, chariot of fire, stop 
not in thy meridian height to lay 
aside thy irradiating beams, but pour 
out upon the Western skies the full 
tide of thy matchless glory, until the 
East and the West shall blend their 
strength and form one inseparable 
equilibrium. 


THE END. 


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